


i’ve got you (under my skin)

by KyloTrashForever



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (More of Rey fetish but meh), (Rose is pregnant), Accidental Auditory Voyeurism, Age Difference, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Boss/Employee Relationship, But it’s ROMANTIC anal, But the most unbelievable amount of horny leading up to it, Cock Warming, Desk Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant Ben Solo, Eg. “You have to be quiet” sex, F/M, Hand Over Mouth Sex, Light Bondage, Literally the most dirty talk I’ve ever written, Live-in nanny, Mentions of Pregnancy, Mild Foot Fetish, Mutual Pining, Oh no you walked in and saw me changing, Overstimulation, Pining Masturbation, Sex Toys, Single Dad Ben Solo, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Sneaking Around, Sort Of, Suit Kink, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voice Kink, but she is baby mama from forever ago?, i mean not really - Freeform, nanny rey, remember when this story had a plot, very brief mention of past Amilyn/Ben
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 81,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23577136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloTrashForever/pseuds/KyloTrashForever
Summary: “Hi, I’m Rey. I’m here for the—”“Nanny,” Ben blurts out dazedly, still trying to remember how to form coherent thoughts. “You’re the nanny.”Her smile hitches up a little wider. “Well, I might be.”Suddenly, Ben thinks he might be in for a whole new world of problems.Because Rey Johnson is still most likely the only thing standing between him and disaster, that much hasn’t changed, not by a long shot.And Ben can’t seem to stop staring at her mouth.In which Ben hires Rey to watch his son... but he can’t seem to stop watching her.***ON INDEFINITE HIATUS***
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 2527
Kudos: 3245





	1. an actual human wonder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JenfysNest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenfysNest/gifts).



> HELLO. Yes, I started another multi-chapter. 🤧
> 
> To be fair, I’ve been promising Jen this for months, and I am not a liar, and she deserves all the horny things, and if this AU will be anything... it will be horny. 
> 
> Try to contain your surprise. 🤧😂
> 
> Special thanks to jeeno for teaching this dumb girl about smart law things. She’s an angel. 💕
> 
> To the hardest working beta and sweetest friend in the entire world, I hope this is everything you wanted. 🥰  
> 

“What do you mean, _eight weeks?”_

“I told you,” Amilyn tells him calmly. “There’s a problem with the merger we’ve been handling. They want me in Paris to try and sort things out. See if we can salvage things a little.”

“In Paris,” Ben says, still feeling dumbstruck.

“ _Yes,_ Ben, _”_ Amilyn sighs. “In Paris.”

“I’m going up for _partner_ this summer, Amilyn. You know this couldn’t be worse timing.”

She laughs in that way that drives him a little crazy, even after all these years, as if he’s being unreasonable, almost childishly so. “What would you like me to do, Ben? Tell my firm to let GenTech lose the deal we've been working on with them for over a year just because you're busy?"

He huffs out a breath through his nostrils. “I didn’t say that.”

“My hands are tied here.”

“I don’t even know how this is going to work,” he goes on. “I have the Warner case to worry about right now, the firm is hosting half a dozen functions this summer that I’ll _have_ to attend, not to mention all the fucking networking I’ll be doing. I don’t see how—”

“Ben,” Amilyn cuts in, her tone that resigned softness that means she’s chiding him. “This is your _son_ we’re talking about.”

Guilt creeps in, and he frowns down at his desk, his eyes boring a hole in his office phone where Amilyn’s voice drifts out from the speaker. “I know that,” he says with a quiet sigh. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know how busy things are for you right now,” she offers gently. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary.”

Ben takes a deep breath, allowing his initial panic to die down to a simmer as he scrubs his hand down his face. “I’m sorry,” he tells her. “Of course I want him with me. Things are just hectic right now.”

“I know.” He hears her sigh, and he can just make out the tapping of her perfectly manicured nails against the oak surface of her desk. It’s almost irritating, how put together she is, how _calm._ It’s funny how much it irritates him now, considering it’s what drew him to her all those years ago. “But maybe it will be good for you both,” she goes on, “spending a longer period of time together like this.”

He makes a disgruntled sound. “You say that as if you didn’t push for sole custody.”

“Because you were a twenty-five-year-old 3L without the slightest clue what to do with a baby,” she laughs. 

“All I’m saying is, bi-monthly visitation was _your_ idea.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I’m not out to guilt-trip you here, Ben. We have a good system, one that works for everyone. I’m just telling you where I’m at.”

He rests his chin in his hand, trying not to view Ren’s unexpected stay as anything more than a good thing, because ultimately, he knows that it is. Even if it is terrible timing. “Okay,” he says finally. “We’ll make it work. Somehow.”

“Great,” Amilyn breathes with what sounds like relief. “My flight leaves Monday morning, so I will bring him by Sunday evening so he doesn’t have to wake up so early.”

“Okay.” Ben is nodding for his own benefit, completely aware that she can’t actually see him. “I have early depositions on Monday, but I will talk to my mother about coming by to visit until I can figure out something long term.”

“Oh, how is Leia? We had lunch a few weeks ago, but I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a chance to catch up.”

“I still can’t believe you don’t find it odd that you’re so close to my mother.”

“Don’t be such a grouch,” she chides. “She’s Ren’s grandmother, after all.”

“Right,” he mutters. “Sure.”

“You know, I have the number to an excellent nanny service that you could look into since Ren is out of school right now. They even have live-in services in some cases. Might be worth checking out.”

“I don’t want a stranger in my home,” he huffs.

“These people are _thoroughly_ vetted, Ben,” she laughs. “It isn’t like they’ll be sending you a convicted felon.”

“Still.”

“Well, suit yourself. I’ll tell Ren it’s all settled then. He’ll be so excited.”

 _Sure he will_ , Ben thinks. 

It isn’t as if he has a terrible relationship with his son, it’s just that at eight years old, there seems to be nothing at all that Ben can connect with him over. He loves him, of course he does; he doesn’t think there will ever be anyone he could love so fiercely. The moment he was born, something changed in Ben. Like a wire wrapping around his heart to ensnare him, something he never expected, if he’s being honest.

But there have also, he’s learning with every passing year, never been two people more different.

It was easier when he was younger, when his primary needs were: _feed him, clothe him, care for him—_ something Ben has always been more than happy to do, but it’s different now. Now he has interests, hobbies… an entire multitude of things that Ben can’t quite seem to grasp. 

Sometimes Ben wonders if it was a mistake, this arrangement he’s gone along with, but these are worries for another time. 

“I’ll see you on Sunday, then?”

“Perfect,” Amilyn answers cheerily. “Looking forward to it.”

Ben is still left staring at his office phone after she hangs up, feeling only a slight tinge of that old bitterness that comes with speaking to the mother of his son. There’s a complicated history there, one that he thinks burdens him alone after all these years, but he can’t help that fleeting sense of regret at the way their lives went. Not so much for the sake of him and Ren’s mother, but more for the closeness he’s begun to fear he’s missed out on with his son.

Not, he thinks, that it matters now. 

He sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair, trying to reconcile the idea of Ren coming to live with him for the summer, a span of time that exceeds any amount they’ve spent together consecutively before this, and he thinks to himself that it will definitely be something of a learning experience. He laughs a little with the thought. 

For him, mostly.

* * *

Leia, as it turns out, is a saving grace.

“Oh, how wonderful,” she’s telling him as she generously slathers butter over her roll. “Of course I’ll come by.”

Ben breathes a sigh of relief, sinking into his chair at their table with a nod. “Great. Perfect.”

“I’ve always wondered why you never filed for joint custody after you got more settled,” Leia tuts. “You’re his father, Ben.”

“I’m aware of that, mother,” Ben grumbles. “I don’t want to uproot his life. It doesn’t feel right to force something on him he doesn’t want.”

Leia scoffs. “You think he wouldn’t want to spend more time with his dad?”

Ben doesn’t say that this is _exactly_ what he’s afraid of—pressing his lips together instead. “Let’s just get through the summer first.”

“So how long will she be gone?”

“She thinks right at eight weeks, but it could be less. It just depends on how the deal goes.”

Leia clicks her tongue as she reaches for her mimosa. “And during your busiest summer.”

“Tell me about it,” Ben sighs.

“I’ve tried to tell you that you work too much,” Leia chides. “Maybe you can take a break now. Maybe this is a sign for you to do just that.”

“You and I both know that I can’t take a break right now. I’m _this_ close to making partner.”

She snorts. “So you can lounge up in your fancy office with all those other hoity toity assholes you work with.”

“Mom.”

“I’m just saying, I’ve _met_ Leonard Snoke, and he seems like an oily old bastard to me.”

“ _Mom,”_ Ben groans.

“And another thing,” she barrels on, taking another generous sip of her mimosa. “Don’t you think that he seems a little—”

“You want to ease off the booze? It’s ten in the morning.”

She narrows her eyes at him, holding her glass up in cheers. “It’s _brunch._ Just because you don’t know how to have any fun, doesn’t mean I don’t.” She shakes her head. “Don’t know where you got that stuffiness from. Definitely not from me. Must be your father’s side of the family.”

Ben reaches to pinch the bridge of his nose, the makings of a heachache beginning to throb there.

“Who will stay with Ren during the day?”

He peers out across their table to catch his mother eyeing him curiously.

“Oh.” He shifts a little in his chair, shrugging noncommittally. “About that… I was wondering if you could—”

“Benjamin Chewbacca Solo,” she says pointedly, making him frown. “I know you didn’t lure your poor old mother to brunch just to try and butter her up for your own needs.”

“No,” he tries feebly. “Of course I didn’t.”

“Because you know that this is our busiest season.”

“I know that, but I was just thinking that you could—”

“And you know that with our new store opening up downtown I will have an _incredibly_ full plate for the next few weeks.”

Ben sighs. “Yes, I know that, I was just thinking that—”

“And you _know_ that I can’t be holed up in your house all day while you wine and dine those rich bureaucratic cocksuckers that you call—”

“Okay, _okay.”_ Ben holds out his hands in a quiet plea that she let it _go._ “It was just a thought.”

Leia purses her lips. “But what _are_ you going to do?”

He shrugs. “No clue yet. I don’t suppose he would enjoy hanging out at the office?”

“An eight year old? Cooped up in a law firm?” She snorts with amusement. “Try again.”

Ben rubs at the back of his neck, shrugging. “Amilyn mentioned a nanny service, but I don’t think—”

“Oh, that would be a perfect solution!”

“—except I don’t want some stranger in my house, around my _son.”_

“Those programs are top notch,” Leia assures him. “They’re heavily vetted.”

“So I hear,” he mutters under his breath, and then a little louder: “Still. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with it.”

“It isn’t looking like you have a lot of other options.”

“Yeah,” he sighs wearily. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

Leia takes another sip from her glass, brow furrowed in thought as she stares out across the back deck of the restaurant to watch the water shooting out of the fountain from the lawn beyond. Ben reaches for his glass to take a sip of water, his own mind whirring in thought as he tries to think of any options other than inviting some _stranger_ into his home and coming up short.

It’s only when he’s setting his glass back on the crisp white table cloth that his mother snaps her fingers suddenly, eyes widening with something like realization as she reaches across to pat his hand excitably. “Oh! You know, I actually think I might have an idea.”

“You decided to…?”

She waves him off. “No, no, I’m not going to be your live-in babysitter,” she grouses. “But… I might know someone who could.”

“I told you, I’m not sure that I want a—”

“She’s not a stranger!” Leia shrugs. “At least, not to me. There’s a girl that did some volunteer work for the family’s foundation—”

“Which one?”

“Hm? Oh.” She shrugs. “The afterschool program. She’s in grad school for social work. Such a good girl, Rey.”

“Rey?”

“Mhm. Rey Johnson. Very bright. She mentioned the last time I saw her that she was working to pay her way through school.”

“And you think she would want to nanny because…?”

“Because you are going to pay her an _ungodly_ amount of money to do it.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Am I.”

“Yes, yes,” Leia says excitedly. “The poor dear. Can you imagine, putting yourself through school? I got to speak with her on several occasions last summer. I still check in on her from time to time throughout the year. Such a good girl, that one. Wouldn’t hear of it when I mentioned helping her out. Very proud, I think.”

He can only imagine the barrage of nonsense this poor girl had to put up with at the hands of his tenacious mother, but he has to admit he’s intrigued by the idea, a recommendation from his mother already leaps and bounds above the alternative. “And you think she would be qualified?”

“I saw her in action,” Leia assures him. “ _Amazing_ with kids, but then again, I imagine you would need to be, in her desired line of work.”

Ben thinks to himself that either this logic is incredibly sound, or he’s just desperate. “And you still have her contact information?”

“Of course! She’s already reapplied for this summer.” Leia taps her chin thoughtfully. “I suppose I could shift her around to twice a week at the center so she could still get her hours… so you’ll have to make sure you allow her to do that, but with you paying her as much as you will be”—Ben has the good sense not to cut in here, already knowing he _would_ pay an ungodly amount of money for any type of help here—“she won’t need all those other jobs over the summer. I spoke with her once about it, my word, Ben, there isn’t a job on this earth that girl hasn’t done. The _work_ ethic on her. She really is just so—”

“Okay,” Ben cuts in. “I get it. She’s a prodigy. Honestly, if you vouch for her, I’d be inclined to trust your judgement.”

Leia lifts her glass with a smile. “Now you’re learning.”

“Do you think you could reach out? Surely this sort of offer would seem a lot less strange coming from you rather than a total stranger.”

“Sure, I don’t mind.”

“And what am I paying her exactly?” He grimaces. “Assuming she’s on board with this ridiculous proposal, that is.”

There’s a twinkle in Leia’s eye that makes Ben incredibly nervous, and she takes a slow sip of her mimosa before setting it back down, wearing that same sly grin. “You just let me worry about that.”

Ben has a feeling that Rey, if she takes the job, is about to become the highest paid nanny New York City has ever seen.

At this point, he doesn’t even think he minds.

* * *

He’d been equal parts nervous and relieved, when he’d heard from his mother that Rey had been receptive towards the possibility of working for him. It’s still the most insane situation he thinks he’s ever been a part of, but with eight of what will most likely prove to be the busiest weeks of his life looming ahead, and the newly added bonus of temporary pseudo-sole custody… Ben thinks that this is the least of his worries.

Amilyn has already faxed over a medical consent form for the length of Ren’s stay, and just holding it in his hands brings the gravity of the entire situation crashing down over his head. He’s realizing all at once how much different it will be, having his son around day and night rather than every other weekend from Friday to Sunday evening.

There’s a small part of him that is excited at the prospect, wondering if such a extended period of time will allow him to reconnect with his growing son before he gets to an age where the chance passes Ben by—but a much larger part of him is _terrified_ , because what if he fucks it all up? Even Amilyn’s casual mention of _he’s really into Pokémon now_ this morning had sent him into a mild state of panic, because what the fuck is a Pokémon? 

It’s something that’s kept him awake far later than usual these last couple of nights.

He can only hope at this point that his mother had not been exaggerating when she’d described Rey Johnson as an _actual human wonder_ —knowing at this point she might be his only hope, as pathetic as that sounds. 

He jolts when there is a knock at his office door, glancing at the clock to note her punctuality, something that already gains her points in his book. He takes a deep breath, and he smooths down his tie in a nervous gesture, determined to be more personable with her than he is with any other average person he comes into contact with on a daily basis, reminding himself that it wouldn’t be prudent to scare her off before he’s even had the chance to formally offer her the ludicrous salary his mother has promised.

“Come in,” he calls a little more calmly than he feels.

The handle turns, and the door swings open, and he’s holding his breath a little as he stands from his desk to step around it and greet her because this woman is _actually_ the only thing standing between him and disaster, and he—

And he forgets his entire train of thought. 

He isn’t sure what he’d expected, when his mother had described Rey Johnson. Perhaps he hadn’t expected anything at all, too focused on her supposed prowess in all things children and her shining capability that his mother hadn’t stopped singing about for the entirety of his brunch. Maybe the thought of her beyond that simply hadn’t crossed his mind. 

But it’s crossing his mind now. 

Because pretty pink toes step through his door in smart looking pumps—long legs climbing up from them to disappear into a tight, black skirt that it takes all he has not to linger on. She’s all rounded hips and narrow waist and good god, her _mouth_ —soft and pink and curled in a polite little smile—for a moment Ben isn’t even sure what his name is anymore.

It isn’t until he notices her outstretched hand that he remembers himself, isn’t until he hears her soft, lilting voice as she offers, “Hi, I’m Rey. I’m here for the—”

“Nanny,” Ben blurts out dazedly, still trying to remember how to form coherent thoughts. “You’re the nanny.”

Her smile hitches up a little wider, and she reaches to tuck a stray curl behind her ear as she laughs a little under her breath. “Well, I might be.”

Suddenly, Ben thinks he might be in for a whole new world of problems. 

Because Rey Johnson is still most likely the only thing standing between him and disaster, that much hasn’t changed, not by a long shot. 

And Ben can’t seem to stop staring at her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben just wants Rey to take care of little Ben. Oh, and his son too.


	2. however you need me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the nanny is just as horny bless her 
> 
> CW: mentions of pregnancy (not main pair). Rey is Finn’s “little sister” (same foster home situation, etc) and married to Rose. Rey has been living with them. They are both a little older than Rey, and Rose is pregnant with her second child in her third trimester. Mentions of this in the last cutaway of the story, if you’d like to skip it—it’s more of just Rey realizing how hard it might be to live with the hot dad and some fun domestic banter basically anyway.

She’d almost thought it was a joke, when Leia first mentioned the pay for this nanny job. 

It’s not something she ever really considered, doing a job like this—but honestly, for the number Leia had dropped as casually as if she were talking about the weather or her afternoon tea… Rey thinks she could have offered her to be a parasailing instructor, and Rey would have made it work.

She thinks to herself that it isn’t completely left field, considering her affinity with children and her desired field after grad school—it’s only that it’s a very… intimate thing, she thinks. Being such a close caretaker for someone’s child like that. Not to mention Leia’s mention of it being a _live-in_ position. 

Still, the _pay._

She straightens her smartest-looking skirt when Mr. Solo’s assistant informs her that he’s ready for her, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves as she thanks the tall, ginger-haired man. She isn’t sure what to expect in Ben Solo—perhaps he will be smaller like Leia, with a kind smile and kinder eyes. It’s what she’s been picturing leading up to this, if only to steady her own nerves at being interviewed at what might be the nicest-looking office she’s ever been in for the highest paying job she’s ever fathomed. 

Another steadying breath before she gives a tentative knock at the door—a deep voice beckoning: _come in_ as she turns the handle to step inside.

So no, she hadn’t really known what to expect with Ben Solo leading up to this moment—too preoccupied with the knowledge of this job paying more than her usual three summer jobs _combined_ —and so she’d been content to picture a male Leia, when she thought beyond that.

But he is decidedly _nothing_ like Leia.

He’s big for one, _impossibly_ big. He’s standing at the edge of his desk, frozen in place as if he’d been midstep to greet her but forgotten in the middle what he was doing. Her eyes dart back and forth to map broad shoulders that are made more prominent in his tailored suit jacket—her mouth parting a little embarrassingly as she realizes she’s just staring.

Not, she thinks, that Ben notices. 

He’s looking at her feet for some reason. It makes her wonder about her choice of shoe. She went with her smartest pair, and she wonders now if they aren’t quite up to standard. Not to mention, she’d chosen her most garish pink polish, stupidly thinking it would give her confidence. Now she’s afraid it’s giving him some sort of bad impression, with the way he frowns down at them for a good number of seconds. She’s wondering if perhaps there had been some sort of dress code she hadn’t been aware of—but Ben’s gaze is already climbing upwards, taking in everything else she’s wearing, and she does her best not to feel self-conscious in her T.J. Maxx outfit in front of this man whose suit looks like it cost more than her monthly rent. 

She takes yet _another_ deep breath, telling herself that silence will get them nowhere—and she extends her hand in what she hopes is a professional greeting, hoping that she can salvage whatever she’s already ruined with her choice of dress as she pastes on a smile.

“Hi,” she tells him, going for something more casual than hello but not so casual as _hey_ —God, she’s so nervous. What is it about him? “I’m Rey. I’m here for the—”

“Nanny,” he says, his voice seeming much deeper on this side of the door. Deep enough to send a strange little flutter in her belly that she brushes off as nerves. “You’re the nanny.”

His expression is nearly unreadable, stony and guarded and hardly even worth calling an expression at all, but she refuses to be intimidated by it any more than she already is. She smiles a little more brightly. “Well, I might be.”

For a moment he just stares at her, and she curses herself mentally for trying to be cute, watching his lips press together as his eyes flick down to her legs again, making her worry there’s a run in her pantyhose or something. She has to resist the urge to check. 

“Right,” he says finally, his voice that same low gruff that makes her feel strange. “Of course. Sorry. It’s been a hectic morning.”

He finally reaches out then to take her hand, and she feels the tension ease out of her body with his strong grip—replaced by one of a different kind as his warm palm engulfs her much smaller one, reminding her all at once just how _big_ he is.

He shakes her hand for a second longer than she feels is necessary, or maybe that’s just how they do it here in this swanky lawyer world that she knows nothing about. There’s a brush of his finger against her palm when he finally releases her hand, and she tells herself that it is still _just nerves_ when she has to suppress a shiver from it. 

She watches that same giant paw of his gesture to the seat in front of his desk, and she gives him a polite nod as she steps over to sit, trying her best not to exude all the nerves that she feels in every muscle of her body. He fills the chair behind his desk as if he was made for it—seeming almost like a giant with the way his torso fills out the flared-back chair. 

She can’t stop thinking about how he almost seems too big for his damned desk.

“I appreciate you coming today,” he tells her pointedly. “I’ve been under a bit of a time constraint here, I wasn’t expecting Ren to be with me all summer.”

“Of course,” she offers. “Leia mentioned it being a surprise.”

He nods with a pursed mouth. “His mother had unexpected business in Paris, so, here we are.”

“Ah,” she says thoughtfully. “Divorced, I presume?”

There’s a strange working of his jaw, and it had felt like an innocent question when she’d asked it, just casual conversation—but the look on his face says differently. She can immediately tell this is not a subject he wishes to broach.

“We were never married,” he tells her flatly. “Regardless, I’m in desperate need of some help if he is going to be living with me full time.”

“Okay.” She shifts a little under the weight of his stare, his eyes settling briefly on her mouth and making her worry that her lipstick is smeared, or perhaps that it’s too dark. He just makes her feel so _unsettled._ “I will admit I’ve never worked as a nanny before,” she tells him honestly. “But I’ve worked with children on several occasions volunteering for various after school programs.”

“My mother says you’re _something of an actual human wonder_ with children.”

Rey feels a smile tugging at her lips, something like pride in her chest. She’s always liked Leia, just an honest-to-goodness friendly woman. Her son on the other hand…

God, the way he just _stares._ She wishes she could get a better read on him.

“I like to think we get along pretty well,” she says with more confidence than she feels. “How old is your son? Leia forgot to mention.”

“Ren is eight,” Ben informs her. 

“And what is he into right now? My godson is seven, and he’s all things Minecraft,” she laughs. “Which, admittedly, is sort of fun. I thought the graphics would really put me off, but after the dozenth time he made me play, I finally had to—” She goes quiet, realizing that he’s still just staring at her. _Fuck._ She’s babbling. Something she’s prone to when she’s nervous. She clears her throat, reaching to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Anyway. Ren? What’s he into?”

Ben’s brow furrows as if he has to think about it, and isn’t that strange? “He’s…” His lips form a tight line briefly as his jaw works. “He’s into Pokémon.”

“Oh, so he’s probably all about the Switch right now,” she chuckles.

Ben looks at her as if she’s just asked him for the meaning of the universe. “So, anyway, do you have any qualifications in regards to actual childcare?”

No nonsense, this one. She makes a mental note to keep small talk to a minimum. A shame, she thinks, as enjoyable as his mouth is to look at forming the words.

 _Jesus_ . She quickly brushes _that_ thought away, because holy _inappropriate_ , Batman.

“Right,” she answers, trying to focus on his eyes instead, something that proves just as difficult, with the way they’re so dark, the way they seem to see right through her. “Well, I’m First-Aid _and_ CPR certified. I took the courses during a stint as a lifeguard one summer. I keep them up to date since I do so much volunteer work with Leia’s foundation.”

“Yes.” He nods thoughtfully. “Between my mother and I, I think we can still ensure you gain your volunteer hours.”

“She mentioned that too,” Rey answers.

“I’m not sure if my mother mentioned that”—he looks almost uncomfortable now, shifting his weight as his fingers reach briefly to adjust his tie—“this is a live-in position.”

Rey is fully aware of the air conditioning running through this room, has felt it since the moment she walked in—but suddenly it’s warm, so much _warmer_ than it was a few moments ago. Because she had known that part before she walked in here, she really had—but she’s only just now realizing the implications of it.

Because it means she will be living with _him._ This big, brooding man with a mouth built for sex and an attitude she thinks might be built for much of the same. One she’s been trying to pretend she isn’t attracted to for the last twenty minutes. 

Her hesitance is ridiculous, she knows that—Ben Solo has to be nearly a decade her senior, probably dates women with pedigrees and thousand-dollar-handbags, has been staring at her outfit fixedly in a way that _more_ than says he probably thinks she doesn’t belong anywhere near his life—and yet still the thought of living under the same roof as him, of potentially seeing him out of this suit, even if it means what will most likely be Versace pajamas… It makes her nervous. It makes her a bit of something else too. Something she doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“She mentioned that,” Rey says quietly.

“Would that be a problem?” 

Rey shakes her head because honestly: “I’ve been staying with my brother and his wife while I’m going through school, but their guestroom is more of a closet, really, and while I _adore_ Harry Potter, I won’t pretend it might be nice to have a little more—”

She’s doing it again. Babbling. _He’s_ doing it again. Staring.

That hard, slow stare that she can’t read. The one that makes her throat dry. 

“No,” Rey breathes, feeling her cheeks heat. “It wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I’ll need you to cook for Ren as well.”

“I make a mean bowl of mac-n-cheese.”

Nothing. Like _granite,_ Ben Solo.

“Of course,” she tries again. “I can do that.”

“I have several functions to attend this summer,” he goes on. “Late meetings aren’t unusual as well, so your actual schedule might be… unclear.”

A brief flash of Ben Solo coming home late, tie undone and that thick hair of his rumpled as if he’s been running his fingers through it—eyes hard but still fixed on her just as they are now. Even if maybe a little differently. 

Get a _grip,_ Rey. 

“That’s fine too,” she says quickly. “I’m here however you need me.”

His eyes dip to her mouth then, and she reaches almost unconsciously because: _did_ she smear her lipstick? His gaze settles back on hers in an instant, and she tries her best not to look unsettled, even if she feels that way. 

“Good.” His jaw works as if he’s thinking, and she wishes he would give her _some_ clue as to how she’s doing here. _Anything,_ really. “I’m still not… entirely comfortable with the idea of a stranger in my home,” he tells her, her stomach clenching with nerves. “But my mother can’t stop singing your praises, and that’s enough to put me at ease, for the most part.”

“I completely understand,” she tells him, because she does, really. “I promise you, if you give me the chance, I’ll treat Ren just like he was mine.”

He studies her for a good handful of moments, jaw still working and eyes still boring a hole in her face. “Okay.” He’s nodding now, and the utter _relief_ in her chest because holy _hell_ , this job will be a godsend. “Ren’s mother will be dropping him off Sunday evening. I’ve made arrangements with my mother for Monday, but if you could come by that evening, I can introduce the two of you, show you where you’ll be staying, et cetera.”

“Sure,” she breathes in a rush. “That sounds perfect.”

“Good.” He pushes away from his desk to stand, and she mirrors the action, smoothing down her blouse as she takes care not to stumble in these blasted heels she hardly wears. “I’ll have my assistant get you all my contact information and my address.” He gives her another long look. “I really do appreciate you coming,“ he tells her. “You’re really saving me here.”

He does look genuinely relieved, and it’s the first bit of anything on his face that isn’t stony indifference she’s seen. It sort of changes his face, that little smile at his mouth. It sort of creates a whole other world of problems for her. His hand reaches again to shake hers, and she notes that same warmth there that makes her heart rate pick up a few beats.

“It’s really no problem, Mr. Solo.” She does her best to keep her hand steady, to ignore the way his thumb grazes against the back of it. “You’re sort of saving me too.”

“Ben is fine,” he murmurs. She doesn’t miss the way he peeks down at her shoes again, for whatever reason.

“Ben,” she echoes.

She realizes he’s still sort of just holding her hand. He must realize it as well, bringing it back quickly to tuck both into his pockets. He clears his throat, that same stony mask sliding into place. 

“By the way,” he says with a bemused tone. “I’m curious to know how much my mother told you that I’d be paying you.”

Her eyes go wide. “You mean… You don’t know?”

“Haven’t the slightest.”

She might be panicking right now, if it weren’t for the way he seems seconds of way for laughing. Maybe. It’s hard to tell with him.

She mumbles out the figure Leia gave her as a flush creeps down her neck, sort of wishing the ground would just swallow her up. 

But Ben seems unaffected, that same barely-there grin painting his mouth again. “Honestly, I got off easy.” A puff of air through his nostrils that could almost be called a laugh. “I’m sure you’ll earn it, before I’m done with you.”

There’s a strange lump in her throat that she can’t quite swallow around, his words innocent, but what it does to her decidedly less so.

“I’ll see you Monday, Ms. Johnson.”

“Rey,” she mutters weakly. “Just Rey.”

That little ghost of a smile. “Rey.” 

She leaves him before she says something stupid, a habit that seems to only be made worse by his presence—not turning to look back even though she swears she can _feel_ his eyes on her. 

She heaves out a breath that feels like the first one in an hour when she’s tucked safely behind the elevator, staring down at her shoes and wondering what in the hell he found amiss with them. She wiggles her toes with a resigned sigh, thinking that it doesn’t matter now, since she got the job, in the end.

It looks like she’s the nanny now.

* * *

“I can’t believe you’re going to just _move_ in with him.”

Rey rolls her eyes from the sink, rinsing the plate she’s just scrubbed before she bends to place it in the open dishwasher. “You’re just sad to be losing your short-order-cook.”

“I do fear what will happen when Rose is in charge of cooking again,” Finn sighs.

“I wholeheartedly resent that,” Rose grumbles from the couch in the living room.

“So do the half a million pieces of toast you burnt when we first got married.”

She snorts. “Remind me again when you last used a skillet?”

“Sometime during the Obama administration.”

Rey peeks back at the squabbling couple to catch Rose’s raised eyebrow. “Which term?”

Finn makes a face. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

“Somehow this conversation completely derailed,” Rey laughs. 

“All I’m saying is,” Finn huffs. “He could be a total psycho. He might not even have a _kid.”_

Rey shakes her head. “He definitely has a kid. I know the guy’s mother.”

“Could be a long con. You show up, there’s no kid in sight, next thing you know you’re locked in a basement, and _you’re_ the one wearing diapers while he forces you to drink from a bottle.”

“I really don’t want to know how you land on these trains of thought,” Rey grimaces.

“He’s been on a real SVU kick lately,” Rose tosses in their direction.

“Sounds about right,” Rey mutters, and then a little louder: “Where’s Jacen?”

“In his room,” Rose calls. “Last I checked he was in a water monument farming sea lanterns.”

“Oh, sweet, he got the pickaxe!”

Finn frowns at her. “This guy’s alleged kid might be the one nannying you.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, closing the dishwasher. “Honestly, the whole thing is a dream. I’ll make almost twice as much this summer at _one_ job as I would have my usual _three.”_

“Shit, maybe I should have signed up,” Rose huffs.

Rey eyes Rose’s swollen belly where her second godchild rests, quirking an eyebrow. “I think that might have been hard to accomplish when you’re so close to popping.”

“Yeah.” Rose thumps her belly softly, sighing. “I’m like a ripe watermelon over here.”

“But seriously,” Finn presses sternly. “Are you sure this guy’s alright?”

“It’s fine,” she assures him. “No one is kidnapping me anytime soon.”

Rose peeks over the back of the couch. “Is he like… one of those old geriatric creeps who had a kid with a twenty something and can't be bothered to take care of it?”

“Too much reality TV,” Rey chuckles. “He’s not… old. Not really. Mid-thirties, I think.”

Finn narrows his eyes. “Is he hot?”

Rey averts her gaze, donning an innocent expression as she recalls full mouth, dark eyes and darker hair—thick enough to push your fingers through and long enough to cling to the crisp collar at his naps.

She shrugs. “I mean, he isn’t unattractive.”

“Oh, boy.” Finn heaves a dramatic sigh. “I’ve seen this movie. You said the mom’s not in the picture, right?”

“No. Doesn’t matter.” Rey makes a show of rolling her eyes again. “Not a chance. You should see this guy. Pretty sure I could hock his cufflinks for a downpayment on a condo.”

Rose sits up a little straighter. “And in comes the hot young nanny to thaw his frozen heart, and they bang their way to a happily ever after.”

“You’re thinking Fran Fine when it’s more likely to be Uptown Girls,” Rey laughs. 

Rose makes a face. “Can you just let me have this? I’m eight months pregnant. I have nothing else going for me.”

“Um.” Finn turns fully around at the kitchen table, his fork half-hanging from his mouth from where he’s still picking at the leftovers. “Hello?”

“You did this to me,” Rose hmphs. “You’re the enemy right now.”

“You’re a vision, love,” Finn tells her as he blows a kiss. “What a beautiful time this is.” He leans in a little closer to Rey, lowering his voice. “Bet you won’t miss the hormones.” 

“I heard that,” Rose calls.

Rey covers her mouth to stifle a laugh. “You’ll both be fine without me for a little while.”

“You’ll be alright though,” Finn says a little more seriously. “Right?”

“I’m going to be fine,” she assures him. “Seriously.”

“And you’re not going to be stolen away by the probably-hot lawyer dad with diamond cufflinks, right?”

“Absolutely not,” she promises, knowing the chances of Ben Solo ever wanting anything from her other than an update on his kid’s diet. Finn gives her a noncommittal sound in response, moving from the table to mention checking on Jacen down the hall. 

Her mind wanders as she’s left there to sit alone, still dwelling on the text she’s received from Ben’s assistant Armitage that offered Ben’s address and _phone number._ Because she has that now. Ben’s phone number. It’s just casually saved in her phone should she need it. Should she need it during the time she’s _living at his house._

She can’t pretend she hasn’t stopped thinking about the idea of living with him, despite everything—imagining him only a few doors down a hall, her thoughts dipping to his bed and his shower and all sorts of things she has no busy thinking about, shoving this strange attracting to the brooding lawyer deep down into a little box that’s padlocked with the five-figure salary she’ll be pocketing in the next eight weeks.

Eight weeks.

Eight weeks living with _Ben Solo._

She’s still sort of thinking about his mouth.

She thinks it’s going to be a very long summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor baby Rey really thinking he hates her shoes when really he’s thinking about some kinky shit like licking her toes and dragging himself in his head for it my poor, dumb babies 🤧


	3. a long summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiii I’m back with these two horny mfs

Every time he sees Ren, it feels as if he’s grown. 

There always seem to be another quarter-inch to his hair, a little more definition to his facial features, a minute width to his shoulders. Ben wonders if this is simply the way of things, given that he has his son less than a week out of every month. He’s never questioned it, believed it was what’s best for him—but he’s questioning that now, in the face of such a long stretch of time. One that they’ve never shared before. 

“Well,” Ben tries, shuffling his feet as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “It’s just us now.”

Ren stares back at him from the couch. “Yeah.”

It’s always a little disorienting, how much Ren favors him—same mouth, same nose, same dark mop of hair—a constant reminder that there is an extension of himself walking around in the world. Ben tries to think of something to fill the silence, wondering if Ren feels disappointment to be here for such an extended period of time. 

“Your grandma is coming to sit with you tomorrow,” Ben offers.

Ren bobs his head. “That’s cool.”

“But I’ve made arrangements for a nanny to take care of you the rest of the time.”

Ren’s little brow furrows. “Where will you be?”

“I have work,” Ben explains. “I’ll be back at night… and most of the weekends.”

“Mom said we would be hanging out.”

There’s a stab of guilt in his chest, one that comes from wishing this _weren’t_ the busiest time of his entire life and that Ren _didn’t_ fall into his lap at the worst possible time—and Ben scrubs a hand down his face as he lets out a deep breath.

“We will,” he promises. “I promise.”

Ren’s eyes wander around the room, an expression on his face that says he feels nearly as unsure about the whole thing as Ben does. 

“So… you hungry?” Ben nods his head towards the kitchen. “I could make you spaghetti. You like that, right?”

Ren’s nose wrinkles. “I have a gluten allergy.”

“Ah.” Ben purses his lips. “Right. I forgot. So that’s a no.”

They both linger in the quiet, awkward air for a moment, Ben finally clearing his throat as he claps his hands together. “Well, pizza it is, I guess.” Ren gives him a look, and Ben waves it away. “Gluten-free.”

There’s a little smile at Ren’s mouth now, and Ben lets this soothe the nerves in his chest, telling himself that it will be fine. That he’s _got_ this.

He really hopes that's true. 

* * *

Their first night went smoothly; Ben watched nearly a dozen of something called “let’s plays” on _YouTube_ of all things—because apparently this is what eight-year-olds do now. He can’t recall any of the games covered (mostly because Ren couldn’t seem to keep his attention on a singular video for too long, flitting between them incessantly) but he still can’t say he didn’t enjoy it, oddly enough. 

It’s the first Sunday Ben had ever spent with Ren where he wasn’t watching the clock, burdened with the knowledge that Amilyn would arrive at any moment to pick him up. It had also been the first night in weeks Ben had done absolutely nothing. No work, no phone calls… nothing. It had been… nice, admittedly. 

Even if he’s paying for it today. 

It’s been a whirlwind of depositions and court appearances, hardly having any time to _breathe_ —let alone check in at home, and he can’t pretend he isn’t anxious now, knowing that his son and his mother _and_ the woman he’s admittedly been thinking about for three days will be waiting for him.

The _nanny,_ he reminds himself. The one that he hired to look after Ren while he works. The one he _absolutely_ should not be thinking about in any capacity beyond that. Not that it stops him from doing so. Unfortunately. 

It’s a clear indication of how he probably shouldn’t have offered her the job, the way he can’t stop thinking about her. He knows it’s grossly inappropriate, letting his thoughts continue to dwell on the pretty woman who will be caring for his son, even more so given that she has to be nearly a decade younger than him, and even more than that given she will be _living_ under his roof. 

A fact that hasn’t given him any peace. 

There’s plenty of time to dwell on it more on his commute to Long Island, glancing at the console every few minutes to check the time and knowing by now Rey will mostly likely already be at his house. He’s trying to imagine how much more of a nightmare this will be with his mother as part of the equation, and by the time he pulls into the carport behind his house forty-five minutes after leaving the office—he’s mostly a nervous wreck. 

He grabs his suit coat and his briefcase from the front seat, carrying both past the privacy-fenced-in backyard to the back entrance that leads into the laundry room that doubles as a mudroom. He leaves his shoes by the door, carrying everything else out of the room and down the hall towards the kitchen that spills out into the open living room where he can hear murmured speech and quiet laughter. 

He tries to seem unaffected when he strolls out across the tile to lay his things on the counter, tries to seem as if he _isn’t_ thinking about seeing the too young, much too pretty woman that he can hear chatting on his couch behind him with his much louder mother. 

“Ben!” There’s a rustling that is surely his mother rising from the couch, and Ben takes a quiet breath as he turns to greet them. “You’re late.”

He reaches to loosen his tie, seeing another slim body out of the corner of his eye still resting on his couch. “I know. Work ran late. I got here as fast as I could.”

“Well, it’s given me a chance to catch up with Rey,” Leia says. 

He knows he has to look at her then, and he does, _because_ he knows he has to—finding out all at once that he is hardly prepared for it. 

It’s just that he thinks it should be impossible, for someone to look like she does. He can’t remember a single moment of his life where he’s been so affected only from the _sight_ of a woman—setting about some unexplained tension in every part of his body that makes it a little hard to even speak. 

He gives her a tight nod, feeling that same tension forcing his mouth into a permanent tight line, unable to tear his eyes away from the soft curve of hers. He finally drags them away by force, looking anywhere but her. “Where’s Ren?”

“Already figured out how to set up that Playstation of his in his room,” Leia laughs. “Hardly seen him all day except to eat.”

Ben frowns. “He’s been playing a game all day?”

“Don’t give me that look,” Leia chides. “He’s settling. Plenty of time for whatever boring things you’d rather him be doing later.” She glances down at her watch. “I really have to get going though.” She gives Ben a pointed look. “You be nice.”

Now he isn’t sure if this is a blessing or a curse—unable to determine if being practically alone with Rey is somehow worse than having his overbearing but well-intentioned mother lingering as a buffer. 

Ben has to resist the urge to frown deeper, watching his mother say her goodbyes to Rey and to him before she pads through his kitchen towards the front door. It takes him a moment to steel himself to the idea of them being alone together again, eyes shifting over to the petite brunette still watching him from the couch. “I’m glad you found the place okay.”

“Bit of a drive,” Rey says quietly, reaching to tuck her hair behind her ear. It’s something she did several times during her interview, and for the life of him he can’t figure out why it makes his teeth clench. “But I found it fine.”

“So you haven’t met Ren yet?”

Rey shakes her head. “I thought it would be best to wait for you.”

“I’m sorry you had to wait.”

“Oh, no.” She waves him off. “I haven’t been here long.” She laughs almost nervously. “I haven’t seen Leia in a while anyway. It was really good to catch up with her. She told me about the new shop opening, and of course I said I would come by and visit when I had some free—” He’s watching her babble away, another thing she seems prone to; another habit that makes it hard to swallow. A pretty flush colors her cheeks, and she averts her eyes as she tucks that same errant curl behind her ear. “Anyway. I haven’t been waiting long.”

“Good,” he says, because he doesn’t really know what else to. His eyes flick towards the hall, reaching to rub the back of his neck. “I could take you to meet him?”

Her lips curl upwards to reveal pretty, white teeth, and Ben’s chest does something uncomfortable. “Sure.” 

She moves to stand from the couch, and Ben can’t help the way his eyes dart down to her feet. He’s half-appalled by the blatant disappointment he feels to find her in more sensible shoes today—the image of her pretty little toes done up in pink polish having been a major cause of distress since he last saw her. He hadn’t even been aware something like that did anything for him. 

He’s still not sure why it does now. 

He turns away to stalk down the hall, and he can hear her softer footsteps padding behind him. He’s trying not to think about the fact that after this she will be a semi-permanent fixture here, that her things will be amongst his, and her pretty pink toes might be traipsing about the entire house while he’s not here, while he _is_ here, that she’ll—

His jaw clenches, trying to get things under control. 

He passes by a door—not Ren’s, but another of importance—and he stops in the hall to turn back and regard her. “This would be your room.”

Her mouth parts slightly when she turns to glance at the door, and he does his best not to stare at the soft swell of her lower lip. Failing, mostly. “Oh?” 

“I could show it to you first. If you want.”

“Sure,” she answers quietly, peeking up at him with those wide eyes of hers. “Might as well.”

He reaches to turn the handle and step inside, suddenly needing distance all the while realizing there will be little to be had in the coming weeks. He glances around the room as she steps in after him, gaze flicking to watch as she takes in the space. He refuses to look at the bed he knows she’ll be sleeping on, wanting no part of the images he knows _that_ will bring him.

“Oh, wow,” she murmurs. “This is huge.”

Ben nods to the other side of the room towards the open door there. “There’s an attached full bath. If you want to look.”

He finds her looking up at him from where she’s standing near the bed, his lips pressing together tightly when he catches sight of her brushing her fingers across the soft material of the bedspread. She peeks over at the door in question. “Full bath? With a tub?”

_Do not think about her in the tub. Don’t think about it._

“Mhm.”

She beams at him, and again it does something strange to his chest, and he would really like to _stop_ staring at her like an idiot, but he can’t seem to remember how to do anything else. He watches her disappear into the other room, grateful for her brief absence so he can collect himself—taking a deep breath as he hears:

“Holy shit, this tub is massive!”

She pokes her head back around the door frame, a look on her face that can only be described as _wonder_ —and Ben can’t help it then. He feels his lips tilting upwards of their own volition. “Yeah. It’ll finally get some use for once, I guess.”

_Don’t think about her in the tub._

She’s still looking at his mouth, and suddenly he’s worried he looks ridiculous, grinning at her like an idiot. He quickly smoothes it away, composing himself as she blinks back at him momentarily. She opens her mouth only to close it, clearing her throat as she steps out from the bathroom. 

“Anyway, it’s a great room.”

“Better than the closet?”

Her smile is slow, but just as potent. “Much.”

He nods his head towards the open bedroom door. “Ren’s just down the hall.”

“Okay.”

“And I’m… just beyond that.” There’s that same blush in her cheeks, and he isn’t even sure why he’s said it—embarrassment rushing through him as he quickly averts his gaze. “Anyway. I’ll introduce you to Ren.”

“Great.”

He turns to leave, and he knows she’s following after him—all too aware that after tonight she’ll be sleeping here, that she’ll be _living_ here.

Ben thinks it’s going to be a long summer. 

* * *

Rey’s first week goes… okay. Smoothly, for the most part. 

It’s been a busy week, one that has been filled with late-ish nights and early mornings, and it feels like these last few days have passed in a blur, hardly seeing either of them. Tonight is the first evening he’s been able to get into the house before it’s completely dark, and he walks into his kitchen to be met with happy chatter and delicious smells. 

He’s startled at first, to see Rey leaning over his stove, stirring something in a skillet—more so he thinks because of the way his eyes are drawn to the soft pink apron wrapped around her waist. For a moment he stands in the mouth of the hall, eyes moving from her to Ren who is seated at the counter, giving Ben a little wave that finally makes him remember himself. 

“Hey, Dad.”

Ben turns to set his briefcase on the kitchen table to his right. “Hey, big man.”

“You’re home early,” Rey offers, smiling into her pan. “Easy day?”

Ben makes a face. “Easy-ish.”

“Well you’re just in time for dinner,” she tells him brightly.

“Dinner?” He toys with his tie to unknot it as Rey watches, her eyes fixed on his hands briefly as he pulls the tie from his collar and drapes it over the back of a kitchen chair. “Smells good.”

“Rey’s an _awesome_ cook,” Ren gushes.

Ben catches the way she bites back a smile, eyes flicking to the thin apron tie knotted at her waist briefly before he slides onto a barstool next to his son. “Is she?”

“Yup.” Ren lets his face rest in both hands as his elbows prop up on the counter. “And last night she gave me ice cream.”

Rey narrows her eyes playfully as she casts a peek over her shoulder at Ren. “Traitor.”

“It’s fine,” Ben assures her. “Won’t hurt him.”

Ben watches her cook for a moment as Ren kicks his feet idly at the counter, struck with an odd feeling inside that he can’t quite put his finger on. He’s realizing that he’s never done this: this easy domesticity that’s occurring in this moment—never sat at a counter with his son while someone cooked dinner, certainly not someone who looks like _her._

That fucking _apron._

He might be depraved, for the way it makes him uncomfortable for all the wrong reasons. 

“I hope stir fry is okay,” Rey tosses over her shoulder. “It’s sort of my specialty. Wanted to celebrate our first week and all.”

“It sounds great,” Ben tells her honestly. “It’s a far cry from take out. Which is what I usually eat. When I do, that is.”

“Great.” She peeks over her shoulder again to offer him a smile, and his stomach flips a little. “I didn’t know you’d be eating with us when I went grocery shopping, so I didn’t think about—”

“You went grocery shopping?”

She stops stirring, looking back at him more openly with a raised brow. “Yes?”

“Don’t do that.” She makes a face, and he feels the disgruntled expression on his—trying to wrangle his features into more neutral territory. He isn’t sure why this distresses him, some odd instinct in him bubbling up he’s never dealt with. Not like this, anyway. “Sorry. You just shouldn’t be spending your money.”

“It wasn’t much,” she laughs nervously. “It’s no big deal.”

Ben shakes his head. “It is to me. I’m going to open a credit card for you—for the house. Use that for anything you need here.”

“Ben, that’s totally unnecessary. You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he says firmly. “Please.”

She blinks at him a few times, her mouth parting to speak but no words coming out, finally nodding softly. “Okay.”

He’s still trying to discern where in the hell this odd sensation came from—not anger really, but some irritation at the thought of her spending her own money, working his jaw subtly as she turns back to the stove.

He shakes away the strange feeling as he turns to Ren, seeking a distraction. “What did you do today?”

“Rey played Mario Kart with me today.”

“Whooped him good too,” she chuckles softly from across the room.

Ren huffs out a breath. “Only because you kept hitting me with turtle shells!”

“The only rule in Mario Kart is that there are no rules, kid,” she says slyly.

Ben watches this interaction between them, struck with how easy it seems, this camaraderie they’ve developed in just a few short days. He can’t help but feel a little jealous of it. “So just the video games?”

“We built a pretty stellar fort in his room,” Rey tells him. “You should check it out before bed.”

_Before bed._

Ben still hasn’t quite gotten used to her sleeping only a few doors down. He finds himself shifting a little on his stool as he tries to push _those_ thoughts from his mind. 

“Sounds like you had a full day,” Ben remarks. 

“Rey is _so_ much fun,” Ren gushes. He turns to Ben expectantly. “Will you be home tomorrow?”

Ben frowns, feeling that familiar guilt. “I have to be in court later in the afternoon. I’m not sure when I’ll get out.”

Ren’s face falls, and Ben sort of hates the way he feels right now. “But Sunday… I could try and get home earlier? You could show me some more of that YouTube channel you like?”

Ren’s face splits into a toothy grin, and there’s a warmth in Ben’s chest that spreads outwards to fill him up. He reaches to ruffle Ren’s hair, catching sight of Rey in the corner of his eye. She’s turned around watching the exchange, a little smile at her mouth.

She turns back to the stove even as Ben takes a few moments to look away, and it strikes him then how very… nice this all is. This warmth that his home hasn’t ever really had. He watches Ren strike up some new conversation, watches Rey respond like they’re already old friends—and yes, he thinks. It’s definitely nice. 

He has to remind himself not to get used to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the game is set. it’s straight horny from here on out 🤧


	4. i'll be gentle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more domestic fluff but with a touch of horny? 👀  
>   
> This amazing gif board was gifted to me by [colourisgreen](https://twitter.com/colourisgreen) on Twitter! 😍

She notices a lot of things in those first couple of weeks. 

Ben is a workaholic, for one. She can count on one hand the number of times she’s seen him in the house since she came to live here. It’s something she tries not to judge him for—she has no idea what the story is here really, about the strange dynamic of Ben and his not-ex-wife that he never talks about. Ren talks about his mom sometimes, innocuous things that are expected from an eight-year-old, nothing to really paint any sort of picture. Not, Rey thinks, that it’s any of her business. 

There is also some sort of strange tension between Ren and his dad, not one that anyone might notice at first glance—but Rey does. It’s in the way that Ben doesn’t seem to really know much about Ren’s interests, or his hobbies, or any of the other inane things that a parent normally knows about his own kid. It’s in the way that whenever she _does_ see them together, Ben always seems to be holding himself in check, like he’s weighing his every move, calculating what he might do or say next. Almost like he’s unsure. 

It’s clear that this entire situation is precarious, but it is also, Rey thinks, clear that Ben is desperately trying. She gets this sense like this prolonged stay is a new thing for them, and she thinks also that maybe Ben is so nervous because he’s regretting that fact. It’s clear how much he loves his son, even if he less than understands him—another thing she hasn’t failed to notice. She can see it in the way Ben seems to hang on the edge of every word Ren offers, even if Ben doesn’t understand them all. It’s in the way that the only _real_ smiles she has ever seen from Ben on rare occasions have all been at his son. 

It makes her wonder what their whole story is even more than she already does. 

She tries not to dwell on any of it, because honestly despite the odd quirks of her broody-yet-ridiculously-hot boss and his quiet-yet-adorable son—Rey absolutely loves living here, she finds. Her room is… insane, to say the least. Wide, four-poster bed that could hold four of her, a bathroom that is nicer than any hotel she’s ever stayed in, _complete_ with a jacuzzi tub that honestly she could easily _live_ in—honestly, she’s in terrible danger of getting used to it. 

She’s made a habit of stealing a good hour to herself in the mornings; Ben has this insane kitchen that might have its own Michelin star, she can’t be sure—not that it seems he ever really makes use of it. She actually had to tear a price tag off of the handle of his stockpot before she made soup the other night. Even better, there is an _actual_ espresso machine in there, something she hadn’t even known she needed in her life until it had been made available. 

It took her a few days to figure out all the buttons, but now it’s becoming her normal routine, having a cup in the morning before Ren wakes up as she makes some sort of plan on how to entertain an eight-year-old for another full day. Not that she’s complaining. She’s sort of starting to love the little guy. Even if he is terrible at Mario Kart. 

She’s lounging in this ridiculous armchair that looks like it belongs in, well, a lawyer’s study—but she likes the way the red leather makes her feel like some sort of villian in an eighties movie. Normally this little hour to herself goes by uninterrupted; Ren wakes up just after eight like clockwork—so she’s surprised when shuffling in the kitchen behind her makes her aware that she is not, in fact, alone.

At first she thinks Ren has just awoken early, and she quickly leans to set her coffee cup on the little end table as she scrambles up on her knees in the too-large chair to peer over the back. 

But it isn’t. Ren. 

“Oh,” she says in surprise. “Morning, Ben.”

He goes still in the kitchen, blinking at her with that same stony expression that seems to be his norm. “Morning.”

She takes a brief moment to note what he apparently sleeps in—a crisp white t-shirt and stark black pajama bottoms—distracted briefly by the messy state of his hair that is a far cry from the neat condition it’s normally in, one that looks like he uses more product than she does. Not that she’s complaining, really. It’s very nice hair.

“You’re here late,” she comments. “You’re usually gone by now.”

She’s trying not to think about her fuzzy Minnie Mouse sleep shorts that he can’t yet see behind the safety of his chair. She does her best not to let her eyes linger on that little piece of hair that’s sticking up at the back, endearing him somehow, making him seem like less of a bunch of sharp edges that make up an infuriatingly good-looking puzzle. Then again, the other alternative focal point seems to be his too-pink mouth that is pressed together in that _way_ of his that makes her squirmy. 

“I had a long night.” He reaches to rub at the back of his neck, yawning into a stretch that treats her with a sliver of his abdomen peeking out from beneath his shirt. “There’s a big case I’ve been working on, and it’s been sort of a nightmare trying to get prepared for it.”

“You have been pretty scarce,” she notes offhandedly.

He purses his lips. “It’s sort of a crazy time right now.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to like, imply anything,” she stammers. “I’m sure it’s hard. Doing what you do. And then with an eight-year-old in the mix, I mean…”

He’s just… staring at her. _God._ She isn’t sure if it’s terrifying that he does that or weirdly erotic. Maybe some mix of both? What is he _thinking_ when he looks at her like that? Does he just look at _everyone_ like that?

“Anyway…” She reaches to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Hope you don’t mind me taking advantage of your espresso machine. It’s sort of becoming my crack.”

His mouth does that _thing_ —like a twitch, like it _wants_ to smile, but it’s forgotten how. 

“It’s good that it’s getting some use, honestly,” he tells her offhandedly. “I never have time.”

“Well, I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve sort of become an expert at all the buttons. If you want some.”

“No, that’s… okay.” He averts his gaze as he shifts away from where he’s leaning against the countertop. “I have a brunch meeting. ”

She can’t help the way she frowns a little. “Oh. You don’t want to stay for breakfast? I was going to make pancakes. I found this killer gluten-free recipe I wanted to try. I know Ren would love it if you— ”

“I’m not sure I have time,” he interrupts quietly, his voice tinged with a soft hint of guilt that makes her feel sort of bad.

“Oh.”

It’s awkward now. Or at least, it feels that way to her. She shifts a little on her knees, realizing she’s still casually speaking to him from over the back of his armchair. Now she can’t decide if it’s weirder to stay like this or stand and speak to him normally. 

“He likes you a lot,” Ben remarks after a few moments. “I can tell.”

Rey gives him an easy smile, grateful for the change of subject. “He’s a great kid. Really polite for an eight-year-old.”

“Yeah.” Ben’s jaw works, staring at the back of his chair. “You two have… really seemed to bond.”

She can see the unasked question there, can sense that same tension that she feels every time they’re all in the same room together—and it tugs on her heartstrings a bit. This trepidation he seems to have for his own son. 

“He talks about you a lot,” Rey offers truthfully.

She doesn’t miss the color of eagerness in Ben’s features. “He does?”

“Oh, yeah. All the time.” She bites at her lower lip, unsure of how much to reveal. “He was… excited to get to hang out with you more.”

Ben’s eyes averts to the floor. “He said that?”

“It’s none of my business,” Rey says quietly. “Just something he said.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” He runs his fingers through his hair, blowing out a breath. “We’ve never really gotten a chance to hang out like this, you know? His mother and I…” Ben’s lips press together as he shakes his head. “It’s complicated. I thought our arrangement was best for everyone. Now I’m not so sure. Sometimes… Sometimes it feels like I don’t even know anything about him.” He blinks once, and then again, giving another little shake of his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she assures him. “I’m sure it’s an adjustment.”

He nods thoughtfully. “It is.”

She gives another shift in his chair, her hands gripping the back as she chews on the inside of her lip. She knows she should drop it, knows that it is absolutely _none_ of her business, that she should just _keep her mouth shut_ , that she—

“I could help you out,” she blurts out. “I mean, like I said, my godson is around Ren’s age.” She gives him another easy grin. “I’m sort of down with the kids.”

Ben’s eyes widen a little, his mouth parting slightly as he stares at her with a surprised expression. “Help me?”

“I mean… I could help fill you in on all the stuff he’s into.”

“That would be…” He takes a deep breath. “That would be sort of great, actually? I have… no idea what he’s referring to half the time. Like, the Pokémon, they’re… water turtles? And the whole Animal Crossing thing, I have no idea what the point of that is. And the racing game he likes, Moria Cart? He’s always watching the let’s plays, something I didn’t even know _existed_ , and he—”

He falls silent when he seems to realize that he’s babbling, and Rey feels a little flushed with the knowledge that it might be the most they’ve spoken since she met him. He clears his throat as he crosses his arms, murmuring a _sorry_ in what feels like embarrassment. 

“It’s fine,” she laughs. “It’s… _a lot._ I get it.”

“I just mean… I would appreciate the help.”

She gives him a determined nod, turning to push out of the chair and stand. There’s a brief flick of his eyes down the length of her in which she's trying not to think about how he’s probably assessing how ridiculous her shorts are—trying her best to look collected. 

“First off,” she tells him. “It’s _Mario Kart,_ and it’s insanely fun.”

Ben wrinkles his nose, and Rey hates the way it’s sort of an adorable look for him. “The last video game I played had a joystick and the primary objective was to eat dots.”

“You’re a lawyer,” she scoffs. “You can handle a joy-con.”

“Do I want to know what that is?”

She rolls her eyes. “Come here.” She nods her head towards the entertainment center where Ren’s Switch is docked. “I can give you a crash course really quick.”

“Oh, I don’t know… I have to start getting ready for—”

“Come on,” she urges, moving to settle on the floor and crossing her legs to pat the space beside her. “Just one race.”

Ben looks wary, and honestly, she isn’t even sure what the hell she’s trying to accomplish here—maybe she just selfishly wants to know a little more about the puzzle that is her boss—but she thinks she really can help him, probably. She thinks if she can make things a little easier between him and Ren, well… isn’t that why she’s even here in the first place?

He hesitates for a moment, maybe two, still eyeing her with that same odd expression his features had shifted to when she’d stood from the chair—but after a beat he gives her a slow nod, crossing the space from the kitchen to the living room to settle on the floor beside her. 

“Don’t worry,” she teases, powering up the Switch. “I’ll be gentle.”

The look Ben gives her makes her almost rethink the joke.

Almost.

* * *

“This is incredibly stupid,” Ben grouses.

Rey just laughs. “The idea is to stay _on_ the track.”

“I’m trying,” he huffs. “But you keep hitting me.”

“That’s the point,” she tells him. “I’m trying to win.”

“I thought this was supposed to be a learning exercise.”

She grins at the screen. “I think someone said once that we learn best through failure.”

“I think I’m being hustled.”

“Okay, but you’re learning the basics at least,” she assures him. “Don’t worry. Ren can’t stay on the track either.”

“Probably because you keep hitting him with the damn turtles,” Ben grumbles.

She can’t help the way she keeps stealing glances at him—having never seen him this relaxed since the moment they met. Well, in a sense, that is. He’s hunched over his controller with his eyes fixed on the screen, brow furrowed in concentration as he tries and fails to beat her for the third time. It’s sort of cute, how hard he’s trying.

Not to mention the way his freakishly large hands make the controller seem comically small. She’s definitely not thinking about _that_ every other minute. 

“Oh, oh, hit that star!” She points at the screen suddenly. “It’ll make you invincible for a minute.”

He swerves to try and do as she says, missing it by a long shot and diving right off the edge of the map for the dozenth time. His lips press together tightly as his entire face scrunches up, and Rey can’t help it. She laughs out loud, having to hold her ribs just to contain herself as she drops her controller. 

Ben eyes her dryly, mouth turning down in an irritated frown as his controller falls into his lap defeatedly. “Yes. Hilarious.”

“Oh, come one,” she says, still giggling. “It’s _kind_ of funny.”

“Ha ha,” he deadpans.

“Oh my God, are you a sore loser?”

His mouth forms a tight line. “No.”

“You are! Oh my God. That’s adorable.”

She’s still laughing, and he’s still looking at her, but there’s a slight change to his expression, eyes straying from her face to flit down the length of her briefly with a look that sort of makes her forget what’s funny. Her laugh dies off as the music from the game plays on, forgotten, and there’s an odd tightness in her chest that seems to come from the sudden increase in her heart rate. 

She wonders if he’s aware what it does to her, that intense studying that he’s so keen on, and her mouth feels a little dry as she searches for something to say to break up the suddenly tense air. 

She clears her throat, opening her mouth to do just that, to say something, say _anything_ —

“Dad?”

They both turn in a rush to see the sleepy boy rubbing at his eyes from the edge of the living room, yawning as he takes in the two of them sitting on the floor. 

“Hey, big man.” Ben is already scrambling up from the floor, the tense moment dissipating into nothing as he leaves her behind. “Rey was just, uh… showing me your game.” She notices he isn’t looking at her for some reason. “Did you sleep well?”

Ren nods drowsily. “Yeah. Are you staying for breakfast?”

“I can’t,” he says regretfully. “I’m actually already running behind. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Oh,” Ren answers a little dejectedly. “Sure.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Ben reaches to ruffle Ren’s hair. “Actually… I will _definitely_ be there for breakfast tomorrow. We can… play Mario Kart for a little while after?”

Ren visibly brightens. “Really?”

“I’m not very good,” Ben warns. “Rey beat me every time.”

“That’s because of the turtle shells,” Ren grumbles.

Ben laughs a little under his breath, finally sparing a glance back at Rey, and she doesn’t realize until that moment that she’s just sitting there smiling at them both. Ben’s gaze lingers on hers for a handful of seconds, finally clearing his throat as he quietly tells them both that he needs to get ready for work. Rey watches him leave the room, still thinking about the strange moment that had occurred just before Ren had walked into the room. Had she made him uncomfortable somehow?

“Did you whoop my Dad too?”

She tears her eyes away from the hallway entrance where Ben has just disappeared to, focusing on the little boy settling beside her instead. “I sure did.”

“At least it’s not just me,” Ren huffs.

Rey laughs as she reaches for the discarded controllers. “Best two out of three before breakfast?”

“Okay,” Ren says, “but no Rainbow Road.”

Rey grins as she starts up the menu, telling herself not to think too much of the way Ben had looked at her only moments ago. Telling herself that it means nothing. Because it _doesn’t_ , she reminds herself. Mean anything. 

It means absolutely nothing at all.

* * *

Rey spent most of the rest of her day trying to _not_ think about the fact that she might have a bit of a crush on her boss. Her boss that is a decade older than her. Her boss that she _lives_ with. 

It’s a disaster of a development all around, really, one that she absolutely has to get in check quickly. 

He didn’t come home for dinner, something that isn’t really out of the ordinary for him by any means—but her disappointment of it is. It’s kept her up far later than usual, long after she tucked Ren into bed, restless in her own bedroom as she tries and fails to distract herself with random late night television.

Not that it’s really working. 

By the time midnight is creeping near, she’s mostly just tired and frustrated. And thirsty, weirdly. No pun intended. 

She swings her legs over the edge of the bed in an irritated huff, padding across the room to open her door quietly. She’s careful as she steps down the hall, trying not to make too much noise and wake Ren up. She steps through the kitchen towards the fridge, sighing softly to herself as she pulls open the handle to flood the darkened room with light, not even really sure as to what she’s looking for. She rustles through the items inside curiously, pushing past the orange juice and the bottle of wine until she finds Ren’s bottle of Hawaiian Punch. 

She carries it to the cabinet to pull a glass down, pouring her a sip and downing it quickly before screwing the cap back on the bottle. She sets the glass in the sink to take care of tomorrow, carrying the bottle back to the fridge and pulling it back open to shove the bottle back inside. 

“Rey?”

She goes completely still, one hand on the handle of the fridge door and the other still wrapped around the neck of the bottle as she peeks past the door to squint at the darkened hall that is now filled to the brim with a massive figure. 

“Oh… hey.” 

He steps further into the kitchen to set his briefcase on the table, and by the thin light spilling out from the fridge she can see his tie draped around either side of his neck, hanging loosely. She has no idea why it’s such an appealing look. She briefly notes the time, thinking that these are ridiculous hours to be keeping at work—but it doesn’t matter right now, she thinks. Not with the way he’s staring back at her.

“You’re up… late.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she tells him, standing frozen at the fridge. “Just getting some… juice.”

It hits her then—when he’s close enough that she can see the way his eyes move down the length of her—what she’s got on right now. 

She’s still wearing her _ridiculous_ Minnie Mouse shorts, something that is making her consider burning them at her earliest possible convenience—but what’s worse is the thin tank top that completes her little late night ensemble. One that she had already pulled her bra out from underneath an hour ago, lying somewhere on her bedroom floor right now. She can _feel_ the way her nipples strain against the tight fabric, made worse by the chill still emanating from the open fridge, and she thinks that there is _no way_ that Ben misses it. Not with the way his eyes linger there for the briefest of moments. 

She isn’t sure what to do, what to _say_ —continuing to stand there like an idiot as what feels like crackling electricity fills the air around her. She presses her thighs together unconsciously, feeling the way her nipples tighten further at the idea of him being able to _see_ , and it takes a lot longer than it probably should for her to come to her senses. 

She slams the fridge door shut quickly as if it’s burned her, quickly crossing her arms over her chest even though it is considerably darker now. “I’m just going to… go to bed now. Have a good night.”

“Right,” he murmurs quietly, his voice soft and yet strangely tight. “Have a good night.”

She doesn’t look at him as she brushes past down the hall, never slowing until she’s tucked safely behind the door of her room. Her heart races in her chest from embarrassment and something else, something that makes it a little hard to breathe. 

Because she hadn’t meant for him to see her that way, and she’s _certain_ he hadn’t meant to look—but she had, and he did. 

And she can’t stop thinking about the fact that she wanted him to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure Ben _isn't_ still standing in the kitchen short-circuiting because he saw the nanny's nipples through her shirt nope not a chance


	5. an unexpected development

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to you every chapter of this will just get hornier and hornier  
>   
> Pretty gif board by [colourisgreen](https://twitter.com/colourisgreen) on Twitter! 😍

He would like to say that he put it out of his mind. He really would. 

He’d like to say that he easily pried the image of her tight little nipples (so fucking _tight_ and the perfect size for his mouth) out of his subconscious and promptly forgot he saw it, but that would be a lie.

Because he has not forgotten, and he hasn’t stopped thinking about it. 

Even at breakfast this morning—his first one that wasn’t a rushed bagel or a subpar cup of coffee in as long as he can remember—neither of them had spoken to each other. Something that wasn’t a coincidence, he thinks. He doesn’t think he _really_ looked at her for the entirety of the morning leading up to leaving for work just before ten, and he can’t pretend he wasn’t a little grateful she hadn’t lingered in the living room when he’d fulfilled his promise to play with Ren.

But it hasn’t stopped him from thinking about it. Not for a single second.

It’s a problem, he thinks. The way he thinks about her. He thinks about Rey in ways he hasn’t thought about _anyone_ else for as long as he can remember. Maybe ever, and it is certainly worse now after the image of her barely dressed and backlit by the bulb in his fridge like some sort of tempting angel is practically burned into his retinas and waiting for him everytime he closes his eyes.

He thinks about how her thighs might feel around his ears or his hips, how her tits might bounce if he were to fuck her hard enough, how her tight little nipples might _taste_ if he sucked them into his mouth. It’s a goddamn _nightmare—_ the increasing number of terrible thoughts he has about his fucking _nanny._

He wonders if it makes him sick, the way she creeps into his thoughts every time his mind has any sort of lull between work and Ren and everything else. Almost like a compulsion. Like something he can’t even help. 

She’s too young, and far too sweet for the things he thinks about—and with every passing day he realizes what an absolute mistake it was to hire her. In this regard, at least. Ren absolutely loves her, and she’s amazing with him, if he’s being honest. So he supposes it is just _him_ that has the problem of being some sort of creep.

He can’t actually believe he has over a month left of this. 

He doesn’t think he’ll actually survive. 

He’s leaning back in his desk chair, rubbing at his temples from a headache induced by what is going on a half hour of playing back a deposition on his computer and cursing under his breath at a witness who he strongly suspects is a lying son of a bitch—only given reprieve from his personal hell when the phone rings from across his desk. 

He doesn’t even look as he reaches across to tap the speaker button, still pressing the pad of one index finger to rub circles against his temple as he manages a rough, “Solo.”

“Someone sounds grumpy,” comes an airy voice ending in a laugh.

Ben releases a sigh through his nostrils. “Amilyn.”

“Bad day?”

“Something like that.”

“I take it the Warner case is going less than smoothly.”

“That’s being generous, considering it looks like we’ll be going to trial,” he huffs. “I’ve been working on designating deposition excerpts all morning, and then there’s the matter of—” He pauses, frowning suddenly. “Did you need something?”

“I can’t call to see how you are?”

“Amilyn.”

“Fine, fine,” she concedes with amusement. “I was just checking in on Ren.”

“You mean to tell me you haven’t been calling him three times a day?”

“Of course I have,” she laughs. “But I wanted to see how you thought he was. Do you think he’s adjusting okay? Are you spending a lot of time together?”

Ben purses his lips, feeling a flicker of guilt in his chest. “I’m doing the best that I can,” Ben admits. “But I’ve had a few late nights.”

“Ben…”

“I’m doing my best,” Ben stresses with an irritated tone.

“Well, just remember how impressionable he is right now. I just want him to feel like he’s valued by you.”

Ben closes his eyes in frustration, refraining from mentioning again that it was Amilyn who first set the bi-monthly visitation in place. He knows it’s an argument that will get them nowhere. Mostly because he hasn’t won an argument with Amilyn Holdo since the day they met. 

Thankfully, she moves on to another topic quickly. “How is the nanny situation going? Ren can’t stop raving about her. Rey, is it?”

“Yes,” Ben answers quietly. “She’s been great.” He reaches to highlight a line from the deposition he’s reviewing on his computer screen. “Fucking liar,” he mutters.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, I’m multitasking. But yeah, Rey is great.”

“I’m glad you found someone at such short notice that is such a good fit,” Amilyn offers.

Ben tries not to think about how much of a better fit he’d like Rey to be—but it’s hard. It’s incredibly hard. Fuck, he’s practically a teenager. 

“So am I,” he murmurs.

“You’re being nice to her right?”

His brow knits. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You have this uncanny ability to be a little… intense.”

“Like when?”

“Oh, you know… just whenever you’re awake.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grumbles.

She laughs good-naturedly. “When I first met you, you were glaring at a potted plant.”

“I don’t glare.”

“You’re right, it’s more of a scowl.”

“Also, that’s an unfair assessment, given that I first met you after having my ass handed to me by some mid-level associate because I apparently didn’t know how to bluebook.”

He can practically hear her smiling. “Frank was always a bit of a tightass. Didn’t he shout at you that you couldn’t have possibly passed legal writing?”

“In so many words.”

“Regardless, Ren describes his new nanny as nice and fun. Might be a good idea to spend a little more time at home. You could use a little of that in your life.”

“How is it that nearly all of my conversations with both you and my mother end in a similar manner?”

“Because we both care about you?”

He frowns down at his desk, knowing that it’s an innocuous phrase, but still prods a bit at old wounds he’d rather keep patched up and buried deep. 

“Anyway,” she goes on, saving him from what would most likely be an awkward conversation. “I just wanted to check in.”

“Things going okay in Paris? When are you closing?”

There’s a pregnant pause, one that makes Ben wary, and after a beat he hears a soft sigh coming through the receiver that he knows means trouble.

“Actually… I wanted to talk to you about that.”

He scrubs a hand down his face. “Fuck.”

“They’re stuck on our changes,” she offers in an apologetic tone. “I think we’ll be here a little longer than we originally anticipated.”

“How much longer?”

“I’m not sure. A couple more weeks? Maybe?”

Ben tries to reconcile the idea of having Ren a little longer with the knowledge that it means he will have Rey a little longer. A catch twenty-two, to be sure, and he heaves out a sign in response. 

“I mean, if they need you, they need you,” he offers. “Nothing to be done. Have you told Ren yet?”

“No, I wanted to run it by you first.”

“I can tell him tonight if I get home in time.”

“No, no, I’ll call him after my afternoon meeting. I just wanted you to know first so you weren’t blindsided.” Another stretch of silence. “I am sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he tells her truthfully. “I know everything has been batshit crazy, but I really have been enjoying having him around.”

“I’m really happy to hear that. He’s been over the moon being with you, you know?”

There’s a swelling in his chest that might bring about a wave of emotion he doesn’t have time for right now if he prods at it too much, so he just breathes in deep to let it out slowly. “So am I.” A knock sounds at his door then, one that is unexpected, and he clears his throat to brush away the rising sentiments. “Someone at the door,” he tells her. “Talk to you later?”

“Right, right,” she answers. “Have a good day.”

“You too.”

Ben hangs up the phone with a press of a button, offering a come in when the soft knocking sounds again. It could be anyone at his door, any number of people working under him that might need something or other as is common in his day to day—but of course, it isn’t any of those people. Of course.

It’s insanity, probably, that the first thoughts that pop into his head are that she is reminiscent of sunlight being let into the room, because what sort of nonsense even is that—but then again, her fucking smile.

“Hey,” she greets timidly as she steps into the room with Ren in tow. “Sorry for dropping by like this.”

Ren bounds around her to lean over Ben’s desk. “We brought food!”

“You did?” His brow furrows as he gives Rey a confused look. “Food?”

“Oh, I just…” She shrugs aimlessly, setting a sack on his desk. “Ren and I just went to a little deli around the corner, and we were close by, and I know you mentioned the other night you rarely have time to eat lunch, and I just thought—” Her mouth snaps shut when she seems to realize that she’s rambling a little, and Ben wonders for probably the hundredth time how something so inane could possibly be so damned appealing. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, another innocent habit that has a not-so-innocent effect of him. “Anyway,” she says a little more quietly. “We just thought we’d bring you some lunch.”

“That’s…” His eyes flick from the paper bag on his desk to the toothy grin of his son who looks more than proud of himself. Ben lets a soft smile of his own curl at his mouth. “That’s really great, actually. Thank you.”

Ren leans over the wide expanse of Ben’s desk to poke at a stack of papers. “What’re you doing, anyway?”

“Getting ready to go to trial,” Ben tells him. 

“Are you going to put someone in jail?”

“Possibly,” Ben answers honestly. “I guess it depends on how it goes.”

“I’d hate to be opposing you,” Rey laughs.

Ben cocks his head in question, and she waves a hand in front of her face.

“I just mean, like, I bet you’re really good at this lawyer stuff.”

He’s not sure why this strikes him as funny, but that same little smile still tugs at his mouth. “I do okay.”

It almost feels easy, this moment between them, something that surprises him considering less than twenty-four hours ago he practically saw her nipples. Fuck. Now he’s thinking about it again. He can feel himself tensing even attempting to try and brush it out of his mind. He averts his eyes to Ren instead, pointedly not looking at her. 

“Full day planned?”

Ren nods emphatically. “We’re going to the park.”

“Oh?”

“I hope that’s okay?” He has no choice but to give her his attention, trying his best not to let his eyes linger on the way she’s biting her lip, on the little wrinkle between her eyes he has a strange urge to press his fingers into. “I know I didn’t run it by you first, but it’s just such a nice day, and I thought—”

“It’s fine,” he tells her quickly. “That sounds like a great idea.”

Ren visibly perks up. “Wanna come?”

“I wish I could.” Ben reaches to ruffle Ren’s hair as he frowns. “I’m a little slammed here. Rain check?”

That same old guilt balloons in his chest when Ren’s face falls slightly, and he vows to put a park trip on the agenda for the near future when he isn’t chest deep in depositions. 

“Okay,” Ren mumbles dejectedly. 

“Maybe this weekend?” Ben sends up a silent prayer that the rest of his week goes smoothly. “Maybe we can give Rey a day off and go to the zoo in Central Park or something.”

Ren’s face lights up. “The zoo?”

“Yeah,” Ben laughs under his breath. It’s a little incredible how such a small thing could make a small person so happy. “Sounds like a plan.” He frowns then as a thought occurs to him, eyes flicking to Rey who is smiling bemusedly at the scene in front of her. He clears his throat, giving his attention back to Ren. “Hey, why don’t you go have Armitage show you the fish tank before you go? I just need to talk to Rey for a second.”

“Okay!”

Ben watches Ren bound out of the room, trying not to think about the way Armitage will grumble later about having to babysit. Armitage and children are like oil and water, from what Ben has seen. 

Rey looks nervous when he finally gives her his attention, and who can blame her, really? After the fiasco that was last night, she’s probably assuming the absolute worst. He’s still not really sure how in the hell they are even holding a normal conversation right now. 

“I’m actually glad you’re here,” he starts carefully, trying to keep his tone airy.

Rey’s eyebrows raise, and her teeth press worriedly against her lower lip in that way that is more than distracting. “Oh?”

“Ren’s mother called just before you came by… She might be in Paris a few weeks longer than she first thought.”

“Oh.”

He can’t be sure, but she almost looks… relieved? It makes him wonder briefly what she thinks he might have been trying to say. Irrelevant, he thinks. He’s just happy she’s still here.

“I know this is… an unexpected development, and if it’s an inconvenience I can try to make other arrangements, but if you’re up for it, I would definitely compensate you for the trouble, and I—”

“Ben,” she interrupts with a laugh. “It’s fine. I can stay a couple more weeks.”

He breathes a sigh of relief, feeling some of the tension he’s been carrying since he hung up with Amilyn beginning to ease. “Thank you. Seriously. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she tells him. “You’re probably going to have to pry me away from that jacuzzi tub with a crowbar when this is all over anyway.”

He knows she means it as a joke, knows that it is completely innocent—but it doesn’t stop the images of her wet body covered in bubbles from cropping up unbidden. He presses his mouth into a tight line as he gives her a curt nod, and he sees the way her expression changes, knowing he’d ruined another moment going well with his ridiculousness. 

“Well,” she says with a little more nerves now. “Guess I’d better get him to the park.”

“Have a good time,” he offers.

“Yeah… don’t work too hard, Ben.”

He doesn’t really answer, just watches her turn to leave the way she came, only really breathing again when the door is closed safely behind her and he can let his head fall to his desk with a thunk—cursing his complete inability to hold a conversation with this woman without making a fool of himself. 

And now she’s going to be around even longer.

Great.

* * *

He really doesn’t mean to get home so late, in actuality, he tells himself every morning that he will work until a reasonable hour and then put it aside and go home—and yet nearly every day something seems to fall into his lap right at the cusp of his reasonable hour to fuck up all his plans. 

So for the third night this week he finds himself creeping into his own house well after Ren’s bedtime, carefully setting his briefcase down in a dark kitchen as he tugs his tie loose from his collar. He actually hates this—these late hours that are keeping him from where he’d actually like to be, but the harder he tries to avoid them, the more problems seem to rise up out of nowhere. 

He sighs in the dark as he undoes the buttons at the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling them up to the elbows before he crosses to the fridge to grab a bottle of water from the shelf inside the door. He unscrews the cap to down it quickly, wishing it were something stronger and trying to decide if he’ll scratch that itch or force himself to fall into bed so that he can get some semblance of sleep. 

He carries the bottle quietly down the hall to stop in front of Ren’s door, turning the knob quietly to push it open slowly. Ren is sprawled out on his little twin bed, all arms and legs and open mouth and looking just like Ben did at that age—and Ben can’t help but smile to himself as he steps across the room to situate Ren’s comforter up over his shoulders. He brushes back the stray tuft of hair at Ren’s forehead after, letting his thumb brush there briefly as Ren’s soft sighs of sleep tug at his heartstrings. 

He has to figure out a way to juggle things better, he thinks. It’s sort of torture, having him so close and yet still feeling so far away. He pulls away to leave the room without waking him up—closing the door quietly with a soft click as his eyes linger briefly on the wood. It’s still eating at him, how terrible at this whole thing he’s proving to be, and he breathes in deep just to let it out as he shakes his head, thinking maybe he’ll have a drink after all.

He moves back down the hall in search of the kitchen, having every intention of not even looking at Rey’s door as he passes, having absolutely no mental capacity tonight to deal with the ever-gnawing attraction he has to his nanny.

And he thinks this is a good plan, a solid plan, one that is more than easily executed—until he hears the soft sound coming through her door just as he passes by. He thinks at first it’s a cry, distressed suddenly by the idea that she might be upset behind her door—and it is exactly that reason and that reason alone that he leans in close to press his ear closer to the wood. 

But she isn’t, he quickly finds out, crying. No, the sound that emanates breathily through her door is… something altogether different. He feels every single muscle in his body tense up, his mouth parting in a quiet gasp as his fists clench at his sides. 

He knows he should pull away, when he realizes what is happening behind her door. He knows that, he really does, and he means to, really. He does. It’s just that he is completely transfixed by the sounds she’s making. Little moans that he has to strain to make out and soft gasps that sound in time with the soft buzzing he’s just now picking up on—and he can’t help it, the way he’s picturing it now. He is assaulted by images of her little hands between her legs, of some thick toy dipping inside her to touch places he’s been thinking about touching himself—and he has to grind his teeth together just to keep from letting out a sound that will alert her of his presence.

His breath turns ragged and his heart beats so fast that it feels like it might thump out of his chest, and there is a moment, just one tiny moment where he desperately wants to open the door. He knows it’s crazy, that it would most likely result in a fucking lawsuit—but it’s visceral, how badly he wishes he could see what she is doing behind this door, in her bed. 

It takes every bit of willpower he possesses, to pull away from her door. He does so with effort, the few steps he takes to put distance between himself and her door feeling heavy. He stares at it for a good number of seconds as that same wild urge rages inside, having never wanted anything in his entire life than he would like to see the way this too young, too sweet woman touches herself when no one is watching. 

He spins on his heel with enough force to make him dizzy, padding down the hall as quickly and quietly as he’s able, his drink forgotten. In fact, as he leans against his own closed bedroom door, finally safe—he thinks there might be a good chance he will never leave this room again. He thought things were hard after what happened last night—her hard little nipples through the thin material of her shirt honestly not nearly as big of a deal as it appears to be by the way it affects him—how on earth will he ever look her in the eye with those sounds in his ears? Knowing what she sounds like when she’s moments from coming? Knowing that he’d like to make her make those sounds?

He closes his eyes as he palms the front of his slacks, squeezing his aching cock that is hard and heavy against the zipper, releasing a ragged breath that takes entirely too much effort. 

Fuck.

Maybe he really is a creep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something tells me rey wouldn't have minded _that_ much if he'd opened that door


	6. a matter of seconds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story is going to go back and forth from soft to horny more times than a salacious rollercoaster that you can't get off  
>   
> This pretty board gifted to me by [driversflower](https://twitter.com/driversflower) on Twitter! 😍

_Rey,_

_I have to be in court this afternoon, and it’s likely I will miss dinner. Tell Ren I’ll be home to tuck him in._

_Ben_

Rey plucks the post-it from the espresso machine, rubbing her thumb lightly over the paper. She’s up early today, even for her, and she can only wonder how much earlier Ben must have risen this morning. 

She frowns as she wonders why he would have told her this through an ambiguous post-it rather than just texting her—still half-worries that he’s still feeling awkward about their embarrassing encounter in the kitchen the other night. She’s tried her best to pretend it didn’t happen, thinking that ignoring it completely is the best way to move past it and being on her best behavior.

Well. When they’re in the same room, at least. 

She blushes as she guiltily recalls the night prior; another night spent wondering how he might be spending the late hours and what he might be doing with them. It isn’t _her_ fault, she thinks, that her brain conjured up the sinful image of him sprawled in that ornate leather desk chair in his office, of his tie undone in that way he does when he gets home, draped on either side of his neck and begging for her to pull it away. Isn’t any fault of hers, probably, that she had begun to wonder if she might be able to crawl into his lap in that same chair, if her thighs might fit on either side while she slowly, _slowly_ sank down over what she imagines as a heavy, _thick_ —

She bites her lip, feeling those same familiar sensations swooping low in her belly that had ill advisedly led to her touching herself only a few doors away from her boss’ bedroom _._ It’s just that she can’t seem to get it out of her head, the way he’d looked at her in the dark of his kitchen. The way for a brief moment, she’d imagined something in his stare that might have been _hunger_ —something that is altogether ridiculous, most likely. 

She shudders to think of what might have happened if he had found out that she was abusing her vibrator only a few doors down to the thought of his hands and his mouth and _worse_ —what she imagines he might be keeping under those slacks. She thinks maybe she saw the outline once, when he’d come home for dinner and leaned against the fridge to listen to Ren babble about their day, and if it’s anything like the glimpse she caught… 

She has to suppress a shiver. 

She has to remind herself of who Ben is and what he’s most likely used to. Men like Ben don’t lust after college girls who are still wearing Minnie Mouse shorts (she frowns with the knowledge that yes, she’s still wearing them now, they’re fucking comfortable); men like Ben are most likely used to well-bred ladies who wear silk to bed and make heels a staple in their wardrobe. 

Something that makes her frown, weirdly enough. The thought of Ben with someone. She wonders if her presence here, if _Ren’s_ presence here keeps him from his normal conquests. Unless… well. Unless that is part of the cause of his late hours at least three times a week. 

She finds herself scowling now, pressing the button on the espresso machine and trying to push _those_ images far from her mind, surprised by how much they upset her. Something that would probably be worrisome if she allowed herself to dwell on it. 

Rey opens the cabinet above the machine to place her first choice in cup back on the shelf, grabbing for one instead that would allow for a much larger amount.

She thinks she could use it.

* * *

She spends most of the morning cleaning the kitchen and the living room if only to take her mind off her errant thoughts that always seem to find their way back to her hot boss. After nearly a month she thinks she should probably have a better handle on these urges of hers, but instead they only seem to grow exponentially worse with each passing day, with every soft moment she catches between him and Ren and every _single_ instance of him unknotting his fucking tie.

She has _no idea_ what it is about the tie.

Ren has been content to play Breath of the Wild in his room this morning, keeping himself occupied while she works, placated with her promise of a surprise she picked up for him a few days ago at the store that they would need to use in the backyard. He’d been practically vibrating with excitement at even the mention of it. 

She starts pulling down all the ingredients for the mustard chicken recipe she found on Pinterest while scanning for gluten-free meal ideas for Ren, grabbing for the fancier brand of Dijon mustard she’d sprung for with only a little guilt. It had sort of made her feel uncomfortable, using the credit card Ben had given her for things she might need for Ren or the house—but she’s starting to get used to it. A little, at least. It has definitely widened her options for cooking, that’s for sure. 

She tries not to think about the fact that she finds herself disappointed every other night because a certain someone isn’t around to enjoy her prowess. And if she puts a little more effort into her meals on the off chance he _does_ show up… Well. That’s neither here nor there. 

The phone rings from the wall about the time that Rey finished chopping the parsley, setting her knife on the table near the bag of Yukon potatoes to wipe her hands on her apron and cross the room to grab for it.

“Hello. Solo residence.”

“Oh, hi,” a soft, pleasant voice greets. “You must be Rey. I’m so glad to get you! I’ve been hearing so much about you from Ren.”

Rey furrows her brow. “I’m sorry… who is this?”

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. Listen to me. This is Amilyn Holdo. Ren’s mom.”

Rey shifts her weight from one foot to the other, a brief flash of her earlier lascivious thoughts about Ben cropping up unbidden. “Oh.” She clears her throat, trying not to sound guilty. “Hello! So nice to meet you.” She laughs a little. “Sort of?”

“I was so sorry I couldn’t have met you before I had to fly out,” Amilyn sighs. “Ren has been absolutely singing your praises when we talk.”

“Oh, well… he’s a pretty great kid. Doesn’t even roll his eyes at me when I make him help with the dishes or anything. Last week he even offered to help cook! I mean, he did spill the sauce, but it was still pretty fun to—” Her mouth drifts shut, realizing she’s rambling from nerves. “Anyway. Yeah. I mean you know. He’s great.”

“He is,” Amilyn agrees warmly. “Terrible at charging his cell phone though. Don’t know why I bought him that thing, honestly. Can’t get him off those video games long enough to even bother with it.”

“He does play a mean round of Mario Kart.”

“I’m told you’ve been giving him a run for his money!” She laughs again, and Rey finds herself liking her laugh. It’s warm and open, and Rey realizes oddly that she’s sort of enjoying this conversation in general. Is she supposed to like the woman who made a kid with the boss she’s currently wishing to ride? Probably not. “He said you taught Ben to play as well.”

Rey feels heat creeping up her neck, and she has to remind herself that as far as she can tell, Ben and Amilyn have no relationship. There’s no _reason_ to feel guilty really. So why does she? 

“He mentioned he was having a hard time… understanding the whole video game. I mean, since that’s eighty percent of eight-year-old anatomy… I figured it couldn’t hurt to give him a few pointers.”

“I appreciate that,” she says without a hint of guile. “Ben’s always in his own little world. Ren’s a lot like him in that way actually. I was hoping they’d get to bond more this summer.”

“I understand,” Rey says, mainly because she doesn’t know what else to say.

“Here I am babbling. I’m sure you’re busy. I was just calling to check in on Ren. Is he busy?”

“He’s currently exploring Hyrule right now, but it’s almost lunchtime anyway. Just a sec.” Rey puts her hand over the phone to shout Ren’s name, and she can hear the faint sound of the overworld music pausing before a soft thudding of little boy feet. She whispers: _it’s your mom_ before uncovering the receiver, giving her attention back to Amilyn briefly. “Here he is.”

“Oh, great. It was good to talk to you, Rey! I appreciate you taking care of my little guy so much. Maybe when I can get back I can take you to dinner? Thank you properly.”

Rey thinks surely that would be weird, having dinner with the mother of the boy whose dad she can’t stop picturing naked (never mind the employment aspect), but she assumes that would be more than difficult to try and explain away during this brief encounter, so she simply says, “Oh, sure! That would be nice.”

“Have a great day, Rey,” Amilyn tells her kindly. 

“You too!” She passes the phone to Ren, holding it in her hands before he can take it for a moment. “Go save your game,” she tells him in a hushed tone. “Lunch will be ready in a little bit.”

His little face lights up, big brown eyes that look too much like Ben’s widening with glee. “But I still get my surprise after, right?”

“Yeah,” Rey tells him with a wide smile. “You bet.”

He bounds off to his room as he brings the phone to his ear, and she can hear his fading: _hey mom_ from down the hall before his bedroom door closes behind him with a _click._ Rey tries not to think about the pleasant conversation with Ren’s kind and sweet-sounding mom, tries even more to push from her mind the errant wonderings of what type of person she is, what she looks like. And what's worse—why she and Ben aren’t together. 

She definitely thinks about _that_ more than she might like, for whatever reason. She tells herself it’s natural to be curious, given the cryptic bits of information she’s gathered from Ren and from Ben himself.

She pushes it all from her mind as she goes back to lunch, reminding herself that it is none of her business, pointedly not thinking about it.

Mostly.

* * *

Ren’s surprise goes over… remarkably well. 

Not that Rey had any doubts. 

His face lit up like a Christmas tree when she’d pulled out the slip and slide she’d picked up while grocery shopping—and he’d been to and from his room in the blink of an eye, his clothes replaced with his swim trunks and a Minecraft t-shirt he’s prone to sleep in. 

He’d been eager to help set up, helping her spread out the plastic runway out in the backyard, even taking it upon himself to hook up the water hose to the slightly inflated end and marveling at the spray of water that began to jet out in a multitude of tiny streams. 

They’ve been at it now for well over two hours, and every muscle in Rey’s body feels overworked and overused as she struggles to catch her breath. She watches Ren take another turn—sloshing across the now-drenched yard and wiping her hands uselessly on her soaked shorts to carefully unlock her phone and check the time.

 _Shit_ , she thinks. _It’s almost time to start getting dinner ready._

“Ren!” she calls as she straightens, pushing the wet strands of her hair out of her eyes. “It’s about time to start cleaning up!”

He visibly pouts as he begs for one more go, and Rey laughs a little as she waves him on to let him go again, moving to the rolled hose to start and unwind a few feet of it. She’s just reaching to turn the nozzle when he comes running up behind her, shaking out his long, dark hair and spraying her as she makes a sound of amused protest. 

“Sorry,” he says with a sheepish grin.

She shrugs it off, gesturing him over to the running hose. “Come here. I need to wash all that grass off of you before you go in.”

He looks down at his legs that have hundreds of tiny little bits of grass and dirt clinging to his wet legs, frowning as he sticks them out one at a time to let her wash it away on the concrete patio near the back door that leads into the mud room.

“You’ll probably need to take a shower,” Rey laughs. 

“Can we do this again tomorrow?”

She grins at his hopeful expression. “Maybe,” she says. “If my arms stop screaming. I’m getting old, kid.”

“Oh, yeah,” he says in a very eight-year-old way. “I forgot.” She’s laughing to herself as she turns the hose on her own dirty legs, washing them down as Ren pipes up again. “Are you as old as my dad?”

Rey bites her lip, fighting a slight blush for absolutely no good reason. “Not quite.” She peeks back up at him as nonchalantly as she’s able. “Are you having fun, though? Staying with your dad?”

“Uh-uh.” He squeezes water out of the end of his t-shirt. “I’ve never stayed with him this long.”

She tries to keep her tone light, tries not to look _too_ eager when she follows up with, “How come?”

“Mom says she has”—he gives her a pointed look that says he’s very proud of understanding what he’s about to tell her—“ _full custody.”_

“Ah.” Rey nods thoughtfully, wanting you ask more but unsure of how to do so without seeming too obvious. “Well. I’m glad you and your dad are spending some more time together.”

His little brow knits as his mouth turns down, looking wary suddenly. “Do you think my dad is glad I’m here?”

“Oh, hey,” she says with a pat at his shoulder. “He’s _thrilled_ your here,” she tells him honestly, because she genuinely believes it. “I think he’s just a really busy guy. But it seems like he’s trying really hard.”

Ren nods emphatically. “He’s never played Mario Kart with me before. I’m really glad you showed him how.” He presses his lips together. “Even if he sucks.”

Rey finds herself chuckling. “Can’t disagree with you there.” She reaches to turn off the hose—winding it back up before she gestures towards the back door. “Let’s go get cleaned up, and I’ll start on dinner.”

“Okay, okay,” he relents, casting one last long look at the slip and slide before he starts to trudge across the patio towards the back door.

She makes him peel off his t-shirt inside to toss it into the washing machine, handing him a towel that she pulls out of the dryer before she sends him on through the entryway and down the hall towards his bathroom. She closes the door that separates the mud room from the hall to lock it when she hears the door to the hall bath close—reaching back into the dryer for her own towel to dab at her face before draping it across the top where she’d preemptively laid out a fresh set of clothes to change into after her and Ren’s backyard adventure.

The athletic shorts she’s sporting now are still soaked through, along with her t-shirt, and she quickly peels them up and off along with her sports bra and underwear to toss them into the washer. She’d thankfully had the precognition to bring a new pair of underwear with her replacement set of clothes, but curses under her breath when she realizes she hadn’t thought to bring a new bra. She reasons her new t-shirt is dark enough to forgo it, hopefully. She’ll grab one before Ben gets home.

She pats herself dry and rubs down her hair before adding her towel to the growing load of laundry in the washer, going ahead and adding some detergent to the mix and cranking it on so she can switch out the loads after dinner. 

Mostly dry, she steps into her clean panties and pulls them up her thighs before reaching next for her t-shirt to shrug into it, pushing her arms through the sleeves before raising them above her her head with every intention to work it down over her wet hair and lower to situate it over her cooled skin. 

And there are many reasons why she didn’t think to lock the back door before she took to changing. Most of them revolving around a post-it note that had—in her mind—justified her lack of consideration of such a simple thing as a locked door. It’s only a matter of seconds after all, between the time she raises her arms up over her naked body to try and let the cotton of her t-shirt fall down over her body. 

But a lot can happen in a matter of seconds, it turns out.

In a matter of seconds, Rey stripped out of her clothes in an only half-secure room. In a matter of seconds, Rey turned on the washing machine, the sounds of the filling water blocking out anything else—including the sounds of a car pulling into the carport just outside. 

In a matter of seconds, the back door—the woefully _unlocked_ back door—opens without warning.

For a moment she’s frozen, arms still half over her head and shirt tangled up there also—just a few meager _seconds_ where she stands stock-still, shock coursing through her. But that’s all it takes, really. A matter of fucking _seconds._ Even after when she tugs down her shirt, when she situates it correctly—she thinks it doesn’t matter. 

Because Ben Solo is standing in the door, looking like he’s about to start displaying an error message that would have tech support asking her to turn him off and back on again. His hand is still gripping the doorknob, and his mouth is parted a little as they just stare at each other. 

And Rey can’t stop wondering in horror just how much he saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bet ya'll thought i was playing when i said I was ratcheting up that horny more and more each time huh
> 
> also, the next chapter will still be in Ben's POV
> 
> and it will _absolutely_ be picking up exactly where this one leaves off


	7. i hate mondays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I AM EVIL BUT AT LEAST I DID NOT MAKE YOU WAIT LONG 🥰🥰🥰  
>   
> STUNNING gif board by [colourisgreen](https://twitter.com/colourisgreen) on Twitter! 😍

Ben might _actually_ be having some sort of stroke.

He can feel his mouth hanging open, but his chest isn’t moving; there’s no air being drawn into his lungs. He’s trying to remember what he was doing before he stepped into his room, hell, he’s trying to remember his own _name_ —unable to recall anything outside of the matter of seconds that occurred after he turned the doorknob that his hand is still currently gripping tight enough to have it in danger of cracking.

There is a part of him—a very distant part, one that even when shouting sounds very, very far away—that knows he should tear his eyes away. That he should look down at the floor or up at the ceiling or _anywhere_ else—but for that minuscule matter of seconds… Ben can’t look anywhere but her.

He doesn’t think there’s ever been—or ever will be—a culmination of pieces that could make a more enticing whole than her body. The rounded curve of her hips give way to the gentle slope of her mostly-flat stomach, the little hollow there seeming the perfect size for his tongue. But her tits—her _tits_ —perfect handfuls that he thinks he could cover completely with his palm; he’s thinking about how soft they might be if he squeezed them, if he let his fingers tease those _fucking tight little nipples_ that are tiny and pink and the closest thing to goddamned perfect that he’s ever seen and the way he wants to cross this fucking room and _taste_ them (he could lift her with little effort, the thinks; he could set her on top of that washing machine and fuck her to its rhythm until she was begging for it, until she was _desperate)—_ and he wishes he could say that he wasn’t staring, as she quickly wrenches her t-shirt down to cover herself properly. He really does.

He wishes he could say that he isn’t openly gaping at soft thighs— _so soft_ —that are still fully on display, ones that he thinks might look even better wrapped around his head. Because he’s picturing it—the way they might feel under his hands as he licks between them, as he hooks a finger into those pretty pink panties that are—is that fucking _Garfield_ depicted on the front? He swallows thickly, wondering if it is odd how _not_ deterred he is by this realization, quite the opposite, in fact, but it’s enough. Just enough to make him remember himself.

Just enough to make his gaze snap back up to meet her eyes. 

But Rey isn’t looking at his face.

Not even close.

His eyes travel down the length of his body to follow her line of sight, and his eyes widen to see the slight bulge at the front of his slacks—his traitorous body responding to the delights of what he was never supposed to see. It makes him realize just how _terrible_ this whole situation is, because fucking _Christ_ , he is her _boss_. She _lives_ here. 

And he’s fucking _hard_ for her.

Rey comes to her senses first, quickly spinning as she yanks her t-shirt down as far as she’s able to offer some semblance of cover for her bare thighs and the ample bit of cheek peeking out either side of her little underwear—but not before he catches a glimpse of the bright: _I Hate Mondays_ scrawled across the back. 

He collects himself to turn on his heel, not sure what the use is now that the image of her pretty little tits is currently tattooing itself onto every available lobe of his brain so that it might torment him at every waking moment, surely, but given the situation, he doesn’t have anything close to a better idea.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaks, her voice soft and _horrified_ and a full pitch higher than usual. “I thought—I didn’t think that you—” She blows out a shaky exhale. “I thought you wouldn’t be home until later?”

“I—” He swallows thickly. “Court was postponed. Judge didn’t show.”

“Oh.”

It’s all she says. He imagines she feels just like he does—at a loss for words.

He bets that she isn’t still thinking about how tiny she might look bouncing on his cock though. Not like he is.

“I’m... “ He tries to think of the appropriate thing to say here, not really having the answer but doing his best anyway. “I’m _so_ sorry,” he tries. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” she says, saving him from his own sputtering. “It was my fault. I should have locked the door. I wasn’t thinking. I—” Another rush of air escapes her. “ _Fuck._ Are you going to fire me?”

_What?_

He reels a little, wondering how she might have come to this conclusion. Of course he isn’t going to—he wouldn’t fire her just because she—just because _he_ —

“No,” he answers quickly. “No, of course not.”

“Oh, thank God,” she sighs in relief, and he can hear her shuffling around now, probably in search of the rest of her clothes. “I really need this job. God, Ben. I’m so sorry.”

He’s not. Not really. Not that he can ever tell her that.

“It’s fine,” he offers tightly, because he is still half-hard inside his boxer briefs, and the situation is only growing worse by the second, because there is still a mental picture burned into his brain of her tight little body spread out and open on top of his washing machine as he fucks into her harder than any spin cycle it’s ever run.

He clings to her _sorry,_ because it helps, even if only just. It reminds him that she wouldn’t—She would _never_ allow this to happen on purpose. He reminds himself that she is probably horrified that her much-older boss who can hardly hold an adequate conversation with her has just practically seen her naked. That he was just staring at her tits as his slacks all but started to tent. 

If only his cock would get the same memo.

 _Fuck,_ he has to get out of this room. 

“I’ll just... go,” he manages, his voice sounding all wrong. Probably a product of lack of oxygen to the brain, he thinks. “Sorry again.”

He doesn’t wait for her to reply, he certainly doesn’t chance another _look_ —nearly running into the closed door opposite the one he came in as he fumbles briefly for the lock to wrench it open. He’s stomping down the hall as fast as he’s able, passing by the hall bathroom and hearing the faint sounds of a shower going ( _thank God_ )—never slowing until he’s safely inside his room with his door slammed shut and securely locked behind him. 

And it’s probably terrible, what he’s already doing—hastily undoing his belt buckle with shaky fingers, tearing the button of his slacks apart so he can work them roughly down his thighs with his boxer briefs in tow—but he can’t help it, he _can’t._

He hisses through his teeth when his cock is hard and throbbing in his palm, giving it a rough squeeze at the head as he shuts his eyes tight to shamefully pull up the fresh image of her bare tits and her soft thighs and even her fucking adorable little panties that he would like to rip apart with his teeth. He imagines his tongue against the fabric, making it wetter, tasting her through it, _licking_ her until she’s panting his name.

He gives another tight squeeze at his shaft before releasing himself altogether—bringing his palm to mouth and laving at it sloppily before bringing it back to his cock to slick himself like some sort of sex-starved teenager who’s never been touched. 

Which, to be fair, it’s been… a while.

But _her._

He fucks into his fist without pretense, without teasing to warming up to it—just brutal strokes that are bordering on pain, having never needed to come as badly as he does right now, all because of _her._

Behind his closed lids are pink little nipples and gentle slopes and dangerous curves, and he imagines her on her knees, mouth open and tongue waiting in offering to catch the splash of his cum that is inevitable now, even though it’s wasted, so fucking _wasted_ because he isn’t balls deep inside her like he’d like to be, and he—

 _“Fuck,”_ he breathes, shuddering through an orgasm as hot cum seeps through his fingers that grip the head of his cock. 

He’s practically gasping for breath now, stars blooming in his vision and his pulse beating a rhythm in what feels like every inch of his skin. He lets his lashes flutter open slowly, carefully, lights and colors and sounds bleeding back in as he dazedly glances down at the mess he’s made of his hand and his slacks and even the carpet below. He stares at it all for a good number of seconds, trying to steady his breathing as he realizes that he’s actually done it; that he has _actively_ made himself come to the thought of her—knowing that it’s something he can’t take back. Knowing that it will more than likely make everything _exponentially_ worse.

He’s trying his best not to think about the fact that he’s almost completely certain that she noticed him sporting a semi only from looking at her a _little_ bit. What a fucking creep she must think he is. He hasn’t the slightest idea as to how he will rectify this situation, how in the hell he will make sure this _isn’t_ the beginning of the most tense and awkward working relationship he’s ever had—he doesn’t have a single fucking clue what to do here.

He lets his head fall back against his door, knowing that he will have to leave this room soon and face her, her bare tits in his head and the memory of his cum cooling in his hand, still half-disappointed it isn’t cooling on her pretty pink nipples instead. 

_Fuck._

* * *

It takes him half an hour to find the courage to leave his room. 

He takes a long shower—longer than anything that can even remotely be called appropriate—lingering under the spray and hoping that if he hides here long enough some sort of solution will come to him. That he will suddenly know exactly how to handle this situation. 

Nothing does. 

But he can’t hide in his room forever.

He tries to keep his expression neutral when he walks into the kitchen—dressed in his darkest, stiffest jeans (just a precaution), and the first dark t-shirt he could get his hands on. His eyes are immediately drawn to her working at the stove, fully dressed now, but what’s worse—wrapped in that fucking apron that does nothing for the terrible thoughts still bouncing around in his head. 

Is there _any_ version of Rey that he doesn’t want to utterly, _horribly_ ruin?

He is afraid to learn the answer to that question. 

He focuses on Ren instead. Much safer. 

He’s tapping away at that Switch thing as he waits at the bar for dinner to be ready, and Ben runs his fingers through his son’s hair to muss it playfully as Ren makes a disgruntled sound. “ _Dad.”_

Ben genuinely smiles then, a bit of the tension in his body easing, genuinely happy to have been able to sneak away from work to spend dinner with him. “How was your day?”

“It was awesome,” Ren tells him excitedly. “Rey got me a slip and slide!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. We played with it today, but Rey says we have to take a break for a few days because she’s too old.”

He’s surprised by Rey’s easy laugh. “Hey, now. I said I was _getting_ too old.”

“Oh, yeah.” Ren nods thoughtfully. “Dad, are you older than Rey?”

There’s a bit of that tension back as Ben is reminded of the gap between him and his nanny that he can’t seem to stop thinking about—nodding slowly. “Mhm.”

“Oh, okay,” Ren affirms. “At least you aren’t as old as my dad, Rey!”

Ben feels heat flushing down his neck, not daring to spare a glance at the stove as he waits for a reply that never comes. Ren blessedly remains oblivious to the tension that is creeping back into the air—and Ben chances a peek then to the stove to find Rey doing the same thing over her shoulder. Her cheeks tinge in a blush as she bites at her lower lip, and her brow knits in what seems almost like an apology. “Dinner's almost ready,” she offers quietly.

Ben gives her a slow nod. “Great. Can’t wait.”

Her eyes linger on him for another second where he can’t bring himself to tear his gaze away but eventually she turns back to the stove, giving him her back as he gives his attention to Ren to ask him about the game he’s playing. He thinks to himself that it will be fine, that they can get through this dinner like adults and that he will _not_ make a fool of himself when they talk about this (because they _will_ have to talk about this, he thinks)—that he will put it behind him and move forward, knowing that’s most likely what she wants too. 

Surely.

* * *

All in all, dinner isn’t that bad. They muddle through with their sole focus on Ren and their day and everything else that an eight-year-old can think of to fill conversation (a lot, turns out)—and it works, mostly. There are no awkward lulls, only a handful of lingering looks between them, and that’s a win, Ben thinks, considering. 

It’s only after, when Ren has retreated from the kitchen to busy himself in his room, that Ben finds an opening to discuss. 

“Need help?”

She startles a little when he appears beside her at the sink, holding out a hand as she blinks up at him with wide eyes. After a beat she finally places the spare scrub brush in his waiting palm, moving to make room for him as he quietly begins to help her scrub at the dirtied dishes. 

It’s quiet for a moment, neither of them seeming to quite know how to broach the subject, and it is Ben, finally that takes the first step. “I thought we should probably… talk about it. What happened.”

“Right,” she says tightly. “God, Ben. I’m _so_ sorry. We were playing outside, and we got _soaked_ , and I sent Ren to the shower, but I was _dripping,_ and I obviously locked the other door, but I didn’t even think about—” She presses her lips together, and it’s insane to him that even now, even after everything that has happened this afternoon—there is still the urge to kiss her senseless, to do all the things he’s been imagining for the last couple of hours and even longer—since he first fucking saw her. “I’m sorry,” she offers again, quieter this time.

He gives her a slow nod, processing her words and her tone and reading her embarrassment through it all. It only affirms what he knows. He has to really steel himself for this part, because for whatever reason it makes him absolutely _sick_ to admit it to himself, even if it’s most certainly true—but he knows it has to be said, because it’s true, even if he wishes it wasn’t, admittedly. 

“I’m sure this is the last thing you wanted. _Me_ seeing you that way,” Ben offers, hating that fact, knowing that a boring workaholic that is a decade older than her could never be her type. “I know that you would probably just like to forget the whole thing.”

Her hand stops what it’s doing in the soapy water, turning up her face to look at the side of his with a slightly parted mouth, her expression from the corner of his eye seeming somewhat surprised, oddly… expectant. 

“Of course that’s what I want too,” he lies, the words almost painful in their falsity. “And we can,” he assures her. “We can forget it. It never happened.”

He chances a glance to the side, and the look in her eyes throws him—something in there that seems familiar in its improbability. Almost as if she’s… disappointed. 

But obviously that’s just his terrible mind projecting his own desires.

“Of course,” she says quietly, in what he assumes is lingering embarrassment. “Yeah. Sure. We can forget it.”

“And about my”—he can’t bring himself to _actually_ say that he had a blatant _hard on_ for her, he just can’t—“reaction. It was... that is, I didn’t mean anything towards—”

“It’s fine,” she mumbles quietly, a slight pink at her cheeks. “Only natural, right? Would have happened with anyone.”

“Right,” he lies, if only for his own benefit. Knowing there isn’t a single person on this earth that elicits as much of a... strong reaction as she does. “Sure.”

“It never happened,” she parrots softly, in what he assumes is embarrassment.

He nods dumbly. “It never happened.”

And it’s there again, briefly, that flicker of _something_ that his desperate mind wants to play up as disappointment, almost as if she expected this to go _differently_ —but he knows that’s ridiculous, just like he is. He swallows past the lump in his throat as he returns his attention to his dish, scrubbing it furiously if only to distract himself from her stony silence. 

They work like that until they’re done, nothing left to say, it seems—and isn’t that the nature of them, really? There’s nothing between them but what she’s here for, what he’s _paying_ her to be here for. 

That’s all this is.

He’s half-moping by the time they’re done, something like melancholy looming over his head as the gravity of how much he wants her comes crashing down on him like a wave. It’s foolhardy, and senseless, and _groundless_ —but it doesn’t change it. Especially not with the images in his head, the ones she never wanted him to see. 

And now he’s just told her he was going to forget the whole thing. 

She quietly tells him she’s going to shower when they’re done, and he lets her go without a word, because he’s an idiot, because there’s nothing to say, nothing between them. There never will be. He watches her move through the kitchen—catching that same _look_ she spares him from over her shoulder before she disappears down the hall and begging his traitorous brain not to turn what is assuredly embarrassment into anything more than just that. Telling himself not to read things that aren’t there.

There’s a brief flash of her pretty little body in his vision that he can’t shake away—and he closes his eyes tight before gritting his teeth, drawing in a deep inhale before letting it out slowly.

_Forget it ever happened._

_Yeah,_ he snorts. _Fat fucking chance of that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as if Ben won't be pulling up that image every single time that he's alone for the foreseeable future 🤧


	8. a good fit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tamatoa voice: I'd rather be hOoOoOoOornyyyyy  
>   
> This amazing gif board was gifted to me by [colourisgreen](https://twitter.com/colourisgreen) on Twitter! 😍

“—and I found the Gerudo and the Eldin bones to take pictures, but I can’t find the last one! The guy said It’s supposed to be in this cave thing in the _Hebra_ part of the map, but I’ve been in there for like, ever now, and I can’t find it!”

Rey grins as she pulls another wad of laundry from the dryer, peeking up at the animated little boy who is currently perched on top of the washer, arms crossed and feet swinging lightly.

“Have you thought of looking up the how-to on IGN?”

His brow furrows. “IGN?”

“Sorry,” she corrects. “There’s a website my godson uses that has an entire walkthrough to help you find stuff. There are videos, apparently.”

“Really?” His face lights up momentarily before pinching with restraint. “Isn’t that cheating?”

“Maybe,” she says honestly, grabbing for the last bit of laundry. “But if you think about it, it’s rated ten and up, so. _Technically,_ you aren’t even old enough to play. I think it’s fine if you need help.”

He nods thoughtfully, pursing his lips together in the same way that Ben does, making her smile. “Yeah. That makes sense. Okay. I’ll try that.”

“Good.” She nods her head towards the laundry room door. “Why don’t you go get me your hamper so I can start another load. Your grandma will be by in a little while to take you to the movies.”

“Okay.” He hops off the washer, hardly any space between his feet and the floor with his height. Rey thinks he’s going to be just as tall as his dad, if not taller. “I’ll be right back.”

She watches him bound out of the room before she closes the door to the dryer, stooping to grab for the basket and trying not to think about the memories still associated with this room. It still feels fresh even a week later, the image of Ben’s surprised expression when he’d seen… so much more of her than she meant for him to see—but it’s everything that came _after_ that haunts her even more. It’s the way his eyes had darkened, the way his slacks had grown tight with an obvious… appreciation, after.

It’s the way he’d utterly crushed her budding hopes only hours later.

She won’t deny that there had been a part of her that had hoped his reaction had meant that he’d shared this ever-growing attraction that she feels for him, that maybe there was some part of him, however small (although, that would be the only _small_ part of him, from what she saw), that wanted her as much as she’s beginning to realize she wants him. 

It might be easier, she thinks, if she was only fascinated with him physically, probably. Which she is, absolutely, but… she also catches herself thinking about that quiet little smile of his. Her thoughts linger on his ever present care of her comfort, his attention to things as small as bringing home a pint of Rocky Road in addition to Ren’s moo-llennium crunch just because she’d mentioned it was her favorite—even just his obvious love of his son has her feeling strangely fluttery inside. 

But Ben had quickly stamped out any flickering sense of reciprocation in the span of one conversation, one where he’d inadvertently albeit _brutally_ reminded her that they are world’s apart, that there is nothing between them but a payroll and a shared living space. 

An agonizing reminder, but a necessary one, probably. She knows it’s better not to get too dizzied in her daydreams. 

She heaves a sigh as she holds the basket close to her chest, trying to push those morose thoughts from her mind and focus on getting the laundry folded. Better to keep busy, she thinks, to keep unnecessary thoughts at bay. 

Especially thoughts of her very-off-limits boss.

* * *

She’s folding Ren’s shorts when she finds it. 

She’s not sure how it made it into this particular load of laundry; maybe Ben took it off while tucking Ren in, maybe he tossed it in Ren’s hamper late one night without thinking—Rey can’t be sure. One of his crisp, white dress shirts that always fit so snuggly across his chest, that look even more tantalizing when the sleeves are rolled to the elbow, when the buttons at the collar are undone, when a _tie_ lies draped around the neck—

Not important right now, she thinks.

She lays it flat over the carpet in the living room to smooth it out with her hands, pressing her lips together. It’s strange that just a _shirt_ can have her shifting a little, pressing her thighs together in a miniscule way that is still indecent, because it’s just a fucking _shirt._

It’s just that it’s so _big_ —reminding her of his width, his enormity, the way he dwarfs her and makes her feel small, something that she objectively isn’t. Not really. She considers leaving it out on the kitchen table for when he gets home and letting him deal with it, something that is still hours away yet—but there’s a temptation now. One that has existed before this moment, admittedly, but now that she has ample reason to _feed_ it…

She’s on her feet before she can second guess. 

Ren left nearly a half hour ago now to see a movie with Leia, and she doesn’t expect them back for another couple of hours, at least, considering Leia mentioned ice cream after. She’ll get in and out before anyone’s the wiser. Easy.

But there’s still a fluttering in her chest, a rapid _thump-thump_ , as she quietly turns the handle on Ben’s bedroom door. She lets it creak open as she peers around it, met with dark furniture of polished mahogany and darker bed sheets that fit him, she thinks, now that she’s giving it thought. One of his suit jackets lies over the end of his bed, and it makes her momentarily aware that it was only hours ago that he was _here_. Her feet pad softly across the hardwood as she creeps inside Ben’s bedroom ( _creep_ being an accurate description, probably)—letting it close softly behind her with a _click_ as her eyes roam about the space. 

Save for the furniture and the very wide, very _roomy_ bed—there isn’t much to explore in Ben’s bedroom. There’s a moderately-sized flat screen resting atop his chest of drawers, and one lone painting above his bed of soft colors that remind her of quiet water and breezy trees. It’s a surprising burst of color in his otherwise dreary-looking bedroom, and she lets her gaze linger only briefly before she holds the shirt a little tighter, stepping towards the slightly-ajar door on the other side of the dresser that she assumes is his closet. She bites her lip as she eases it open, her behavior reminiscent of some sort of burglar rather than an employee simply returning a shirt to its rightful place. Because that’s all she’s doing here, she tries to convince herself. Only her job.

Right.

She flips on the closet light, met with an incredibly neat line of dress shirts and suit jackets—all hung by what seems to be type and color in a way that screams anal retentive—but still Rey finds herself smiling softly at the order of it all, because it’s so _Ben._ She runs her fingers over one charcoal sleeve, caressing the fabric that feels too fine, too pretty for her. She can imagine that same material wrapped around his bicep, curling her fingers there to hold on as he pulls her closer, as his mouth descends to—

She swallows thickly, remembering why she’s here. 

It’s easy to grab an empty hanger to use for the shirt, but it’s harder to leave the closet after, to leave his _room_ , really. It’s none of her business, Ben’s room, and she knows it—but there’s a curiosity about her boss, about _Ben,_ that’s hard to slake from just a quick glance alone. She closes the door to pack away her stalker-like behavior behind it, blowing out a breath as she chides herself for lingering. 

But turning only brings her attention back to the stray jacket laid out at the end of his bed, and she eyes it for a long moment before she crosses the space between her and the bed, touching the fabric, blue this time, finding it just as luxurious feeling under her fingers as the ones in the closet. She picks it up with only a little hesitation, biting at her lip as she tests its weight. She thinks it’s fairly innocent, the way she presses her nose to the fabric to inhale, creepy, yes, but innocent. It smells like detergent and the clinging bit of Ben’s cologne—something spicy and masculine that makes her want more. She pushes her fingers inside to feel the silken lining there, tempted briefly to put it on, to feel its weight on her shoulders almost like an embrace.

Too tempted, as it turns out.

She has it off the hanger and over her shoulders before she can talk herself out of it, telling herself that she just wants to see how it fits, how it most likely dwarfs her. She’s rewarded with sleeves that fall well over her hands, hiding them away. When she turns to view herself in the mirror hanging over his dresser across the room she is made painfully aware of how the shoulders swallow up her own, the way the body of it completely consumes her much smaller form.

Like a kid playing dress up, she thinks with amusement. 

Like this the smell of him is more overwhelming, giving her the illusion of pressing her nose to his chest, his throat, maybe. She closes her eyes as she imagines thick arms wrapped around her, the fantasy, again, an innocent one, but the effect it has on her, again, not. She presses her thighs together as she imagines his weight settling over her, imagines that same scent of him surrounding her as he pushes her into this big, big bed of his—and it’s easy, draped in his jacket, to realize just how he would _cover_ her. 

Her throat is dry now, and there’s an obvious slickness between her legs that makes her underwear cling to her slit, forcing her to spread her legs a little just to ease the sensation. A mistake, she realizes, given that she’s somehow become wet enough just from _imagining_ him touching her for it to make the inner creases of her thighs sticky. 

Her heart rate picks up a dozen beats or so as she again presses her nose to her shoulder, breathing him in—and her fingers _just_ graze below her navel from beneath the sleeves of the suit jacket to scrunch the fabric of her t-shirt until cool air kisses her belly. It’s _wholly_ wrong to even consider what she’s _most definitely_ considering, but there’s a throbbing between her legs now, a thrill inside that comes from doing something she knows she isn’t supposed to, of touching herself _here_ —knowing later he will be in here, none the wiser. 

She bites at her lower lip as she attempts to swallow, but there’s a lump there now that makes it difficult. She dips a knee at the end of his bed, fingers pushing down and down until they brush against the button of her shorts, letting out a shaky exhale as she deftly pops it open to let the denim gap. She doesn’t bother with the zipper, merely rubbing her wrist against her belly until the sleeve of his jacket bunches and shoving her hand down her underwear until her fingers delve between slick folds to slide across the rapidly swelling bud of her clit. 

She hisses between her teeth when she applies a slight pressure, an immediate _zing_ of pleasure that melds with the rush of what she’s doing to nearly steal her breath. Her body curls inwards until her face presses against his comforter, her body sliding up the bed until she can lay on her side, his suit jacket settling under her nose as she keeps her eyes shut tight, breathing in deep so that she can pretend he’s here, that _he’s_ touching her. 

She rolls her fingers against her clit without any pretense, without any type of teasing or buildup—having only the singular mission of _coming_ in her _boss’_ bed. Rey has never done anything so reckless, so _bold_ —and that thought alone makes it all the more thrilling, she thinks. She feels the sleeve of his jacket falling, hindering the movements of her hand, and she grits her teeth as she swipes across her clit faster. 

She imagines hands that are larger, images a body so much _wider_ —letting the fantasy fuel her until she can practically _hear_ that deep, deep voice of his murmuring praises in her ear. She hears impossible encouragement of how _good_ she is for him, things she’s never even considered outside of porn, thinks she might even have called _laughable_ before this—but she isn’t laughing at the thought of being _good_ for Ben Solo. She isn’t laughing one fucking bit. 

She wants him to use that same tone she’s only ever heard on work calls, commanding his own universe, _controlling_ every part of it—wants to hear it telling her to get on her knees and her stomach and any other way he might want her. If only he just _wanted_ her.

Her breath is little more than desperate panting now, her wrist aching and her underwear a mess, but she’s _so close_ . She begins to whimper, working her hand as quickly as she’s able, drawing out that friction until blood rushes in her ears—so close. So fucking _close,_ and she—

The trill of her cell phone nearly causes her to jump out of her own skin. 

It startles her so severely that she physically _jolts_ —scrabbling to her back and withdrawing her hand so fast that her slick fingers curl into the edge of the sleeves to smear her fluids there, making her grimace. Her phone continues to ring in her back pocket, and she blinks up at Ben’s ceiling in a daze as she tries to reconcile it with what she was just doing. It occurs to her that it could be Ren, and she knows that despite the _terrible_ position she’s in—she has to answer it.

She manages to wrestle it from her pocket despite the hindrance of Ben’s too-long sleeves, eyes widening for only a moment in surprise before she accepts the call in a fit of panic because—

“Hello, Rey,” his voice comes through the phone, just as low and tempting as she was just imagining. 

Her clit throbs as if in recognition, still demanding that she finish. “Hey, Ben.”

“Everything okay? You sound out of breath.”

“Y-yes,” she says too quickly. “I was… vacuuming.”

“Vacuuming?”

“Yes,” she tries again, keeping her voice as even as she’s able. “Heavier than it looks.”

There’s a terrifying moment where she thinks he’ll press her on the matter, but he blessedly moves on from the subject. “Oh. Well. I was calling to say that I _would_ be home for dinner tonight,” he informs her. “I know you asked for me to let you know so that you could plan.”

“That’s great,” she says airily, closing her eyes as his voice keys her up despite the innocuous words coming out of his mouth. “I’ll lay out some more chicken.”

“I’m sorry for my terrible schedule,” he offers contritely. “I know it’s a headache.”

“No, no,” she argues. “I get it. Work.”

_God, how is she still this turned on from such an innocent conversation?_

He laughs a little, a low, pleasant sound that trickles down through her to settle right at the still-throbbing bundle of her clit. “You probably deserve a raise for all you put up with.”

“Don’t be silly,” she manages. “I love it here.”

“I’m glad,” he murmurs. “You’re so good at it all.”

She bites at her lower lip. “Good?”

“I just mean… at keeping us in line. You’re just... a good fit, I mean… Sorry,” he huffs. “I’m mucking this up.” Another throaty chuckle that has her shivering. “I’m trying to compliment you.”

_A good fit._

It’s not even _close_ to what she’s imagining, but that one word from his mouth has her lips parting in quiet yearning, her fingers inching down to tuck back under her underwear, her good sense _screaming_ that she stop even as her desperate body _begs_ that she keep going. Because she _wants_ to be a good fit for him, she thinks. God, does she _want_ to. Just not in the way he’s thinking.

Her heart hammers away in her ears and her chest and everywhere else, holding her breath. “I’m glad, you know,” she says carefully, her lips moving in time with the agonizingly slow circling of her fingers around her swollen clit. “That I’m a good… fit.” She shudders as she swipes along her clit again, faster this time. “For you.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and she’s afraid he’s figured out her terrible, _terrible_ game—her hand stilling and her lips pressing together in fear—but then he clears his throat, seemingly none the wiser, even if his voice sounds a little tighter now. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I’ll be coming”—her eyes shut tight as she gives a deliberate stroke against her clit, imagining him _coming_ now—“home at a decent hour. I just wanted you to be ready for me”— _oh god oh god oh god_ —“with dinner and all. Is it lame to say I’m excited? I love eating your”—she can’t take it, wrist working furiously because she’s close, _so close_ —“cooking.”

Her entire body shakes as she tries to rein in the orgasm that washes over her, biting at her lip hard enough to draw blood but unable to stop the soft grunt that sounds from her mouth before her entire body stills in horror.

“Rey?” He definitely isn’t moving on from this one; how could he? “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she breathes, temples throbbing as she tries to collect herself. “I… stubbed my toe.”

Several seconds of agonizing silence before: “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s no big deal,” she tells him in a mortified rush that is only just outweighed by a dreamy satiation. “I’m just clumsy.”

“Okay…” Her heart continues to pound as she listens to the sound of his breathing, spanning only a moment. “I guess I’ll… see you later?”

“Yes. See you then.”

She lets him go before she completely ruins everything, dropping her phone to the mattress and staring up at the ceiling as she tries to come to terms with what she’s just done. It’s beyond the realm of what she thought she was capable of, what just happened. She’s never done _anything_ like that. 

But then again, she doesn’t think she’s ever wanted anything, like she wants Ben.

And now she’s going to have to sit across a dinner table, knowing she came on his bed, while he unknowingly _listened._

Fuck.

* * *

“—and then Sonic called him the _donut lord,_ ” Ren laughs around a bite of peas. “It was so funny.”

Ben casts a quiet smile across the table, cutting into his chicken. “Sounds like you and grandma had a good time.”

“Yep,” Ren answers while chewing. “We got ice cream after.”

“Before dinner?”

Ren looks sheepish, and Rey clicks her tongue. “You weren’t supposed to tell him, I think.”

Ben laughs, shaking his head. “Trust my mother.”

Dinner has been fairly easy, considering that Rey is still thinking about the suit jacket she’d meticulously put back the way she found it in Ben’s bedroom—still a bit of her cum on the sleeve. There because she actually _touched_ herself in his _bed_ while he _listened._

At the time it had been thrilling.

Now it’s utterly terrifying.

Every glance his way makes her worry that he will find out somehow, because what would he _do_ to her if he knew?

She knows what she would _like_ him to do—but she reasons that the _actual_ consequence might be something more of a, well… _consequence._

She pushes her peas around her plate a little more.

“Dad, can we go to the beach?”

Rey and Ben both exchange a surprised expression before Ben turns his gaze on Ren. “What?”

“Grandma Leia says we have a beach house, but you’ve never taken me!”

Rey cocks her head curiously, watching Ben’s lips purse. “Yes,” he answers carefully. “Technically, we do.”

Rey can’t help her curiosity. “Where?”

“Oh, ah…” Ben surprises her with his slight blush, almost like he’s embarrassed. “The Hamptons.”

“Wow,” she marvels. “Really?”

“It’s not a big deal,” he says quickly. “It was my grandfather’s. He was… well. An oil baron. More or less.”

“What does that mean?”

Ren pipes up beside her. “Grandma Leia says he was _stupid_ rich.” He blinks, nose wrinkling. “Dad, does that mean _we’re_ stupid rich?”

Ben looks like he might like to wither onto the floor. “We’re okay. This isn’t exactly good dinner talk.”

Ren pouts. “But I want to go! Please?”

“Ren…” Ben sighs resignedly. “Work is insane right now.”

“Oh.” Ren hangs his head. “Okay.”

It sort of tugs at her heartstrings, Ren’s melancholy expression, not to mention the color of guilt in Ben’s features—and she can’t help the way she finds herself speaking up.

“It’s none of my business,” she starts carefully, “but a weekend off might do you some good, Ben. You’re sort of running yourself ragged.”

His lips turn down in a frown. “I know, but—”

“ _Please,_ Dad?”

Rey imagines no one would be able to say no to the level of puppy dog eyes that Ren is sporting. It’s almost unfair. She watches the inner struggle Ben is fighting, sees it written all over his face—just as she sees the moment he gives in.

“Okay,” he says with a determined smile. “I’ll move some stuff around. We can go this weekend.”

Ren’s face lights up. “ _Yes!”_ He fist pumps into the air, and Rey finds herself laughing over his enthusiasm before Ren turns to her excitedly. “Do you have a bathing suit?”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“You’re coming,” he clarifies with a tinge of confusion. “Right?”

“Oh, I—” She turns her gaze on a helpless-looking Ben. “I don’t know if your dad meant—”

“You _have_ to come!” Ren frowns at her, that same pleading look that had worn down his father. “Please?”

Rey opens and shuts her mouth just to open it again, looking to Ben for help. “I—”

“Of course she can come,” Ben saves her, his voice noticeably more strained than before. “If… she wants to?”

He’s searching her face now for signs, she thinks, and she knows she should probably save him with an excuse as to why she _can’t_ , that he probably would rather spend the weekend with only his son—but she’s selfish, maybe. The idea of Ben Solo out of his work clothes and into his swim trunks is a _hard_ opportunity to pass up.

“Sure I do,” she answers quietly. “If it’s okay.”

Ben’s throat moves with his swallow. “It’s okay.”

“Okay,” she echoes, realizing they’re still sort of staring at each other.

Ren interrupts with another enthusiastic sound. “ _Yes._ I’m going to go call Grandma!”

He’s already leaping from his chair before either of them can insist he finish his dinner, leaving the pair of them sitting quietly across from each other, neither of them quite sure of what to say, it seems.

“Sorry about that,” Ben says finally. “He can be… a little insistent.”

“No, no.” She shakes her head. “It’s okay. It sounds… fun? That is…” She chews briefly at the inside of her lip, brow furrowing. “If it’s really okay?”

Maybe she imagines the moment of hesitation, that meager span of seconds before a slow nod of his head, but she thinks maybe she doesn’t. “Of course,” he tells her softly. “It’ll be… fun.”

Something about the way he says the words says something altogether different than _fun_ —but Rey thinks she’ll take it. Selfishly.

They’re staring at each other again, and she has no idea what to say, what to _do—_ but again, Ben saves her. He clears his throat as he shifts a little in his chair, his features rearranging into something more casual.

“How’s your toe, by the way?”

She blinks back at him in confusion. “What?”

“Your toe?” His lips press together as his brow knits. “You said you… hit it?”

She feels heat rushing up her neck, her jaw clenching as she is suddenly struck with the memory of touching herself, touching herself in his _bed_ , in his bed while he _listened._ She averts her eyes, stabbing her fork in her chicken and shoving it into her mouth.

“Fine,” she mutters. “It’s all better now.

Ren comes running back into the room then, his face still lit up with excitement. “Grandma says sometimes dolphins come close to the beach!” He hops onto his chair, practically vibrating. “This is going to be _so_ much fun!”

Ben and Rey share a look, and she notices he looks as nervous as she feels. She imagines _he’s_ thinking about all the ways she’s going to intrude on quality time with his son. _She’s_ trying not to think about the temptation of Ben Solo in much less clothing than he is now—relaxed and soft and _wet,_ he could be _wet—_ and that same heat at her neck creeps up to her ears, leaving her flustered.

She turns her face down to take another bite before chewing a little more roughly than necessary.

She can just bet Ben isn’t at _all_ worried for the same reasons she is.

Unfortunately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure Ben won't ever find out what she did
> 
> That coat will surely never be mentioned again
> 
> Just like I'm getting ready to write a wholesome weekend in the Hamptons
> 
> Right
> 
> (Also, side note, I've been pretty sporadic with answering comments, I'm so sorry! I think I am definitely at the point where I have more WIPS than I can actually handle. 😭❤️ I do read and love them, even if I don't get to answer!)


	9. this is fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> burn baby burn dickso inferno burnnnn baby burn  
>   
> Gif board was gifted to me by [colourisgreen](https://twitter.com/colourisgreen) on Twitter! 😍

_This is fine,_ Ben thinks to himself, hopelessly. _This is going to be fine._

It’s a mantra that has gotten him through the last few days leading up to this trip—the preparation, the packing, the drive _up_ —even now, walking through the doors of his parent’s beach house, he’s finding it offers a small amount of solace, even if only a little.

He carries their bags through the front door, stepping across the polished wood floors to drop them on the long dining room table just behind the living area. He can hear Ren’s excited squeals of delight as he rushes in behind—his footsteps loud across the floor as he tries to be everywhere at once. Ben can’t help but smile at his eagerness, genuinely happy to be here with him for an entire weekend. The only hesitance he still carries really lies solely in—

“Wow,” Rey marvels behind him. “This is amazing.”

_That._

Ben swallows thickly. 

It isn’t that he doesn’t want her here, on the contrary, he thinks that the problem lies within how _much_ he wants her here. An unhealthy amount, really, and in the most masochistic of ways. Because part of him (a baser part, one that objectively, he shouldn’t be listening to) is absolutely _giddy—_ but another part, a more _sensible_ part knows it’s a bad idea. Knows that he is only walking another inch into that fire, dangerously close to being burned. 

It’s been tense these last few days, and it’s entirely his fault, he thinks. They’d almost fallen into an easier rhythm, that week following what Ben has come to refer to as _the incident_ —Ben almost finding a way to act _normal_ around her despite constantly thinking about the size, shape, and color of her pretty little nipples. 

But then there had been that… phone call.

He knows it is _deplorable_ that he could twist such an innocent conversation, that his fucked up brain could translate her airy tone and her harsh breath into something of a more lascivious nature—but it’s just that her breathy sighs of exertion had made it all too easy to conjure up a fantasy of some… other activity that might make her sound that way. Some… other scenario where she might have sighed into his ear. 

Preferably one where her arms are around his neck and his body weighs down on hers, and he’s pushing, _pushing_ — 

Ren running past them both brings him back to his senses, taking the stairs two at a time toward the second level and tossing over his shoulder: “Can I sleep upstairs?”

“Ren,” Ben calls, chiding himself mentally for falling into a daydream _again._ “We don’t want to mess up the whole—”

Rey laughs behind him as Ben’s warning falls on deaf ears, Ren already out of view. “Yeah, I think you lost him.”

“Shocker,” Ben sighs. “I guess it’s fine.”

“All kids like upstairs,” Rey points out. “It’s some sort of unwritten rule.”

“Maybe.” He is suddenly painfully aware that they’re alone, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he clears his throat. “There are a couple of bedrooms down that hall on the ground floor… You can pick whichever you like. Unless you want to sleep upstairs too?”

“No, no. It’s okay. I’ll just grab one down here.”

“Great,” he says evenly. 

He’s trying not to think about the fact that she will only be a few doors down from him, even here. He watches as she rubs at her arm lightly, the temptation to drink in all of her too much to resist. Rey is always a… tempting creature, but here, like this—a soft-looking white sundress that is held up only by thin halter straps and covered in a pattern of sunflowers that just… _suits_ her—well. She’s a fucking _vision._

He tries to avert his gaze to the floor, thinking that this is safer territory—met with the soft hem of her dress that caresses her strappy little sandals—fucking pink little toes scrunching there. He swallows thickly, having never had such a visceral reaction to something like this before. He wonders if it’s just that he finds _every_ single thing about her enticing. 

It takes him several seconds to tear his eyes away. 

Ren’s heavy footsteps are already sounding upstairs just before his wiry frame appears from over the bannister, his toothy grin stretched from ear to (painfully large, just like his dad, poor kid) ear. “Can we go swimming now?”

“Sure,” Ben tells him. “Go change into your trunks. I’ll take you down to the beach.”

He’s trying not to think about Rey joining him, knowing that in a short matter of time he will be subjected to her in some little number that will assuredly torment him, that he’ll most likely be assaulted with the memory of what’s _underneath_ —and even now, at just the thought, it has his breath coming a little shorter than it should. 

“I guess I’ll go change too,” Rey says quietly beside him.

_Don’t think about her naked._

“Right,” he answers tightly. “Okay.”

He watches her pick up her bag and wander down the hall, shaking away his errant thoughts and motioning that Ren come down for his own bag. He blows out a breath as he resolves himself to a day spent in discomfort, knowing there is absolutely no chance that he will make it through it without resorting to inappropriate thoughts.

Not a chance.

* * *

Ben has never been overly fond of the beach. 

It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy the water (although he’s never been partial to sand, it gets _everywhere_ )—but his skin and sunlight have never had a very pleasant relationship. He’s spent the last hour mostly hiding under the large umbrella he’d found in the garage, his entire body saturated with a thick layer of sunscreen as he watches Ren splash in the surf. 

Rey has spent most of their time down here scavenging seashells, mentioning something about a craft project she wants to use them for when they get back. It at least means that she’s blessedly still in her gauzy white coverup—a short little number that ends mid-thigh, but at least covers her torso. Small mercies, he supposes.

Despite the glaring sun he’s enjoying Ren’s obvious delight for absolutely _everything_ about the beach—his laughter carrying up from the shore and making Ben feel light. Ren dives under the surf again and again in his overly-large goggle, bringing up a shell to toss it towards Rey every so often as he aids her in her treasure hunt. 

It’s amazing to him that something like this is somehow _worse_ for his… condition than anything else he’s been subjected to regarding Rey.

Because it’s _incredibly_ heady—seeing his son laugh with this woman he can’t stop thinking about, to see genuine fondness shining out of her expression when she looks at him. Not the kind that says she’s only tolerating him for her job’s sake, but that she actually _cares_ for this little boy she only met little over a month ago. 

It makes him think of all sorts of impossible things, ones he hasn’t wanted in a long time. Possibly never, before this, if he’s _actually_ being honest with himself.

It might be easier, he thinks, if it was just her body that drew him in, her pretty face. All things he’s thoroughly transfixed by, to be sure, but it’s more than that now, and he can’t really deny that. It’s the absolute uncouth nature of her laugh when something strikes her as particularly funny, the way she dances in the kitchen to her own humming while she cooks, the way she seems genuinely _interested_ in absolutely every conversation she has in his house, be it with Ben or Ren.

No, he thinks it’s quite a lot more than her body that he’s interested in now, and that makes everything _far_ more complicated.

His wandering thoughts make it so that he misses the way Ren is currently creeping up on an unsuspecting Rey at the shoreline, and he notices a moment too late, the way Ren wades up behind her, crouched down low with his arms spread out.

“ _Ren,”_ he calls out a second too late. “Don’t—”

Ren’s arms are around Rey’s waist before Ben can even finish his sentence, jerking her backwards until she stumbles down into the water with him. Ben is on his feet and ready to chide his overeager son—but he notices two things as Rey comes sputtering up out of the water.

One: that she’s laughing, seemingly fine. Two: her cover up is _absolutely_ see through when wet.

It clings to her in the worst (or possibly best) way possible—leaving a tantalizing image of tanned skin clashing with tiny splashes of bright blue that Ben now notices is a bikini underneath. He immediately forgets what he was going to say, what he was going to do—left staring open-mouthed as she pushes up out of the water, still laughing.

She can't see him gaping, thankfully, too caught up in the laughing little boy who looks gleeful in the water—but Ben can see _everything._ He sees the way she reaches unceremoniously for the hem of her cover up, sees her inching it up and up and _up to_ like it’s no big deal, like his brain isn’t _melting_ from tanned skin and wet curves. 

It takes him a moment to realize he’s grinding his teeth, grateful for the black material of his swim trunk to hide the way they’re growing tight at the front. He plops back down on the sand to bring up his knees, propping his arms against his knees while he tries to collect himself.

He watches Rey pounce deeper in the water, watches her splash some at Ren who laughs openly—torn between wanting to join them and being unsure of how he’d fair so close to a wet Rey. 

He grits his teeth, still unsure of how he feels about the beach.

* * *

“Don’t get my hair wet. _Don’t get my—”_

Ben frowns through the douse of seawater, peeking through wet lashes at a sheepish looking little boy. 

“Oops,” Ren offers. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ben sighs, wiping down his face. 

He can feel the wind at his ears, knowing that his hair is most likely plastered to his head. Not a great look for him. He peers through his spread fingers that cover his eyes, his lips quirking for a brief second before he lunges to sweep a small wave with his arms, retaliating in turn. Ren laughs as it washes over him, falling back into the shallows as he tries to swim away. 

Ben drags him back by the foot, wrapping his arms around his waist and falling to his back to keep Ren pinned to his front. “Not so tough now,” Ben laughs. “Are you.”

Ren squeals as he squirms in Ben’s grip—kicking his legs in an attempt to get away. Ben finds himself genuinely laughing as he holds him tight, not minding his ears so much now. Actually having too much _fun_ too notice.

Even after, when he shakes out his hair and trudges through the rolling water sloshing onto the shore—he feels light. Carefree, even. It’s an alien feeling for Ben. The tension only comes from the image offered after he wipes the water from his eyes—pretty pink toes buried in the sand where his gaze is trained as he slowly travels up what feels like _miles_ of toned legs and shapely thighs and soft hips that beg for his fingers and—

She holds up a pink bottle, shaking it lightly back and forth with a barely-there grin. “You’re starting to burn.”

He looks down at the slight pink at his skin, just now noticing it. “Oh.”

“Turn around, I’ll do you.”

Every carefree feeling sinks straight into the gutter, replaced with an agonizing tension. “What?”

Another shake of the bottle. “Sunscreen? You need some more. You _and_ Ren, really. I’ll get him next. If you turn around I’ll get what you can’t reach.”

“Oh.” A heavy swallow. “Right.” _Bad idea. Don’t do it. Don’t—_ “Of course, I’ll just… Yeah.”

He turns to offer his back, staring unseeing out across the waves as he hears the bottle uncap, hears the squirt of liquid before the wet sound of her running her hands together. He braces himself for her touch, trying to prepare—but he thinks nothing could prepare him, really, for the sweet weight of her touch. He’s grateful she can’t see the way his lips part in surprise when her fingers smooth over his shoulder blades, her palm flattening against him to rub the greasy sunscreen into his skin. He tries to keep loose, to not tense up—but he has to close his eyes to concentrate, to keep from _visibly_ reacting. 

“Ren’s having so much fun,” she comments innocently, far less innocent than he feels right now for enjoying this so much. “I think you’re his favorite person right now.”

“Mm.” He presses his lips together briefly when her hands move over his shoulders. “That’s a bit of a novelty.”

“I’ve never seen him this excited,” she goes on. “Granted,” she laughs. “I haven’t known him long.”

Ben huffs out a laugh of his own. “That boy thinks you hung the moon.”

“He’s such a good kid,” she answers warmly, the smile in her voice evident even if Ben can’t see it. “Turn around,” she instructs, a little quieter. “Might as well finish you off.”

 _God, if she only knew how close she is to_ finishing _him off._

He takes a deep breath to steel himself before he eases back around, holding it in his chest when he’s met with outstretched hands and guileless eyes that ensnare him all the same. He can feel the way his jaw is tense, the way his brow is furrowed—trying his best to seem unaffected when he so obviously _is._

Because he can see the soft swell of her breasts that are bound by the neon blue of her bikini top, see the freckles that span between them to creep up over her chest and shoulders—giving him the urge to count them with his tongue. She’s too close, _dangerously close,_ but Ben can’t seem to move, can’t seem to do anything but stand there and take whatever it is she wants to give. 

He’s still thinking about his ears that stick out of the wet strands of his hair—but not as much now, because Rey isn’t looking at his ear. Not even a little. Her eyes move across his chest as her hands hover, flicking back up to meet his gaze briefly as her fingers hover over his skin. “I’m just going to… Um. Hold still.”

“I can do it,” he offers weakly, quietly. “If you want.”

“No, I…” She does something he doesn’t expect then, something that almost knocks the _wind_ out of him—looking him dead in the eyes determinedly with an expression that he doesn’t recognize. One that makes heat pool in his belly, because is she—? “I want to.”

He nods at her, he thinks, but he can’t be sure—his mind is abuzz now with the way she bites softly at her lower lip, the way she watches his chest rise and fall a little faster when her hands press there. She rubs sunscreen into his skin at a pace that almost seems too slow, too _deliberate_ —hands making slow circles over every inch she can reach for far longer than she needs to.

He’s noticing things now that he never has before—the way her chest moves a little more roughly now, the bob of her throat as she swallows. Her teeth still worry at her lower lip and if he's still, he can feel her fingers trembling. It’s an idea he’s never allowed himself to entertain, because it feels _impossible_ and _absurd_ —but the way she looks now, the way she _touches_ him—could she—could she possibly—

“All done,” she mutters, pulling her hands away.

She looks up at him, her eyes a little darker than they should be—not her usual ocean green but a stormier seawater, the pupils blown a little. Her lips are parted and her chest still heaves slightly, and Ben feels no better, staring down at her, unsure of what to say now. He’s thinking about what he would do if there was a chance, even a _chance_ that she could, that she might possibly—but it’s crazy, it’s _impossible_ , it’s—

He reels in surprise when her fingers reach to slide down the bridge of his nose suddenly, a quiet laugh escaping her. “Can’t forget your nose.”

He blinks dazedly, still trying to make sense of his newfound possibility that still feels like it must surely be a product of an overactive imagination. “Right,” he murmurs. “Can’t forget.”

“I’d better—” She clears her throat, stepping away from him and taking all his wonderings with her. “Better go get Ren.”

“Sure,” he answers, still a little out of it. “Right.”

He watches her step around him towards the shore behind, still feeling a bit like all the air’s been let out from the room, which is insane, given that they’re outside. She doesn’t look back as she coaxes Ren out of the ocean, but it doesn’t stop him from wondering, because what _would_ he do if Rey felt _anything_ of what he does?

More importantly, a darker, lustier part of himself thinks: what _wouldn’t_ he do?

* * *

He’s still thinking about it much later—after the sun has set and dinner has come and gone—finding himself unusually quiet, even for him, he thinks. There’s a welcome distraction in his son’s babbled enthusiasm for everything that happened that day, for the promise of more to come in the morning before they have to drive back—feeling a genuine warmth in his chest at the blatant happiness, the easy lightness between them that hasn’t come so easy in the past. For a little while it makes everything easier, makes all of Ben’s wonderings less consuming—but even now Ren is yawning, rubbing at his eyes as the hour grows later, promising an evening ahead where Ben is left with _nothing_ but his wonderings, his restless thoughts. He ruffles Ren’s hair before he tells him goodnight, smiling when Ren mumbles the same thing back even as his eyes begin to droop with fatigue. 

He creeps out to close the door behind him, letting it click softly shut and blowing out a breath. He can hear her moving around in the kitchen below, knowing that all these questions he just now realized he had are waiting for him. It isn’t as if he can just _ask_ her, he thinks—because if he’s wrong, which there is a _high_ chance that he is—then it would be an absolute disaster. 

He stalks down the stairs with slow steps, the open floor plan affording him an easy view of her tiny form bent at the waist in front of an open fridge—those fucking _shorts_ she favors in easy view, something that he still has no idea why they make her so much more… fuckable. He’s imagined tearing those things off her _dozens_ of times in the past few weeks.

She hears him approach when he steps through the living room, turning with an amber bottle in hand and a little smile at her mouth. “I found beer.” Her brow furrows suddenly. “Wait, am I even allowed to drink on the job like this?”

Ben laughs under his breath. “Consider yourself off the clock.”

“Perfect.” She pops the tab before pressing the rim to her lips, an action he homes in on instantly. She swallows down a mouthful, making a satisfied sound when she pulls the bottle away. “Want one?”

Ben shakes his head. “I have it on good authority my dad has a bottle of scotch hidden around here somewhere,” he tells her. “I plan on finding it before bed.”

“Good call,” she chuckles. “Do your parents come here often?”

“Not together, at least. They’re divorced.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He waves her off. “Don’t. They’ve practically been divorced my entire life. Marriage never suited him.” He snorts. “Either one of them, really.”

“Still,” she frowns. “That’s too bad.”

“ _C’est la vie,”_ he says flippantly.

“Today was fun,” she offers. “I really appreciate you letting me come.”

_Letting me come._

It’s amazing what his brain can do with even the most innocent of phrases.

“Don’t thank me,” he tells her. “Ren is over the moon that you came.”

Her lips curl. “But not you?”

“I—” He feels his heartbeat pick up a bit. “I’m glad too,” he manages softly. “That you’re here.”

Her smile widens a little, and he finds himself just staring on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands gripping the edge as he imagines all sorts of impossible things. Like crossing it, for one. Like bending her over it, for another.

Her eyes dip down to the counter, her fingers picking idly at the label of her bottle as her lips clench. “I’m glad it’s not… awkward, anymore.”

“Awkward?”

Her eyes flick up to meet his. “You know… after you came home… early.”

“Oh.” He feels warmth at the back of his neck. “Right. Well.” He averts his gaze. “It was an accident.”

“It was,” she murmurs.

She’s staring at him when he looks back up, with that same _something_ in her expression that has had him on edge all afternoon. He swallows thickly, fingers so tight at the edge of the counter they're turning white.

“Besides, I…” His mouth drifts closed, unable to finish his sentence for fear of her reaction. “Nevermind.”

“What?” she urges. She’s still staring intently, setting her bottle on the counter top to splay her hands over the granite, leaning in. “You what, Ben?”

“I—” His lips roll together, his mouth feeling too dry. “It’s nothing. It’s ridiculous.”

Rey’s lips part, her body curling until she’s leaning on her forearms across the counter top. Her eyes look a little darker, and Ben finds it a little hard to breathe now.

“You know?” She blinks back at him, gaze fixed. “I don’t think it’s that ridiculous, Ben.” Her nostrils flare minutely with an inhale, one that blows out unsteadily past her lips. “Whatever it is you’re thinking.” Another delicate bob of her throat as she swallows. “I don’t think it’s ridiculous at _all.”_

And he isn’t sure how they got here, isn’t even sure what _led_ to this—or maybe he is, maybe he’s just been too stupid, too _blind_ to see it.

But he might see it now.

She sits there at the counter, watching him, watching him as he just _gapes_ —seconds ticking by where neither of them say anything, neither of them _do_ anything—because what in the fuck _can_ he do here? Everything he’s imagining, everything he _wants_ is impossible, right? There’s no end to this… _fantasy_ that doesn’t end in disaster.

After a good number of seconds, Rey seems to lose her nerve. Her determined expression withers, and she pulls away from the counter looking meeker, almost contrite.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “I don’t even know what I’m saying.” She gives him another searching look, like she hopes he might say something, say _anything_ to validate what feels blatant now, but Ben can’t seem to figure out how to do that, not without knowing what it might mean. “I’d better… get to bed,” she tosses dejectedly. “I’m sure Ren will be up early.”

“Right,” he breathes, hardly even knowing what he’s saying. “Bed.”

Her hands slide from the granite, one hand rubbing at her arm as her eyes remain downcast. “Night, Ben,” she mumbles, moving away from the counter to leave him.

There’s a desperate sensation that bubbles up in his chest, one that has his mouth opening before he can stop it. “Rey, wait.”

She turns to give him a wide-eyed look, lips parted slightly in expectation. “Yeah?”

“I…” He scrambles for the words he’s trying to say, coming up empty. He presses his lips together, frowning. “Just… goodnight.”

She smiles at him, but it’s less bright now, and he sort of wants to kick his own ass. She gives him a listless nod of her head, eyes lingering briefly on his face before she turns to pad down the hall. He watches her go like a complete asshole, wanting _anything_ but the sight of her retreating figure. 

He stares stonily down at the counter top when he hears her bedroom door close from down the hall, making a frustrated sound as he runs his hand through his hair. He lets his palm slap against the granite after, cursing himself for being so cowardly. 

He feels his lips pulling down into a heavy frown, sighing heavily.

He thinks it’s a fine time for that drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i say this was necessary my good people i mean it was necessary


	10. you have to be quiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys
> 
> guys
> 
> _guys_
> 
>   
> This amazing gif board was gifted to me by [colourisgreen](https://twitter.com/colourisgreen) on Twitter! 😍

Rey is still embarrassed, even hours later.

She stares up at the ceiling of the guest room she’s locked away in, her mouth in a tight line as she replays the way she’d overstepped.

She’s not sure what came over her, what prompted her to step out on a limb like she did—it’s just that this afternoon had been… nothing short of perfect, and the way Ben had _looked_ at her, especially when he didn’t think she noticed. But she did. Notice. She noticed _everything._

But he shot her down again. Even if she’s not so sure he wanted to.

_Besides, I…_

It’s making it impossible to sleep, wondering what he’d been about to say. It has her restless and wide awake—mind whirring, because what _was_ he about to say? 

She hadn’t imagined that moment at the beach. She’s sure of it. Yes, it had been a little bold on her part to go in with the sunscreen. She can acknowledge that—but she’d expected little more than the opportunity to finally, _finally_ touch him—nothing more. 

But the way he’d _looked_ at her. 

She didn’t imagine it. 

Just like she hadn’t imagined the way he’d been hard for her last week.

She just thinks maybe it could mean something a little different than he would lead her to believe.

She makes a frustrated sound as she presses the heels of her hand against her eyes, closing them tight as if that might stop the buzzing in her head. She sighs when it doesn’t, wishing she’d finished that beer she left in the kitchen—or maybe three. 

She thinks maybe it would okay to go after a fresh one, she doesn’t think the, in Ren’s words, _stupid rich_ family would begrudge her a second beer in the wake of brutal rejection for what is arguably the _second_ time—and with that logic she is is swinging her legs over the bed that she hasn’t even bothered to pull back the covers to, making slow steps towards her bedroom door. 

She finds the hallway beyond dark and empty, and if she peers down it to the other end at Ben’s shut door briefly, temptation still high—well, who could blame her? She continues on to the kitchen instead, finding it just as dark, just as empty. She’s only a few steps inside when the sound of the ocean makes itself known, louder than it should be, she thinks. 

She turns her head to the wide wall of window that houses the sliding door that leads out into the curved deck above the stairs that extend down to the beach—noticing now that the door is wide open, allowing the ocean air in that smells of salt. She frowns, assuming that Ben might have left it open before he went to bed, and with that in mind she wearily trudges across the kitchen, every intention of sliding it closed and continuing on in her mission for beer-induced amnesia.

But he didn’t, it turns out. Leave it open before bed.

Because Ben is not in bed at all.

He’s sitting in one of the wide-backed deck chairs against the raised stone wall that offers partial privacy from the beach—almost a shadow in the moonlight, one that she could almost miss. She lingers in the open doorway for several seconds, open mouthed, both hands resting against the edge of the door but having forgotten what she was trying to accomplish with it.

“Ben?”

He’s still save for the subtle movements of his arm, of his hand that brings a scotch glass to his lips slowly—his mouth even in the moonlight drawing her eye as it curves around the rim. 

His legs are sprawled out in front of him, relaxed and spread wide, bare feet propped up against the wood of the deck. He’s still in his black swim trunks from earlier, telling her he hasn’t even bothered to shower off since they came back inside—a short-sleeved sun shirt unbuttoned well down his chest to gap open, offering her a pale glimpse of skin beneath. 

And he’s still just sitting there quietly, watching her.

She clears her throat, trying to find her voice again. “What are you still doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs. 

She presses her lips together. “I know the feeling.”

“Mhm.”

He seems different. There’s a lack of tension that he normally carries—replaced with this eerie calm and deathly stillness.

And the way he just _looks_ at her. 

She has to suppress a shiver as she blows out a breath, averting her eyes. “Well. Sorry for barging in. I was just going to the fridge. I’m sure you’d like to be left alone, so.”

She’s closing the door to leave him there alone, the way she’s sure he’d rather be—inching the clear glass door towards the opposite side. She might almost miss his voice, for how quiet it is, but the words feel louder than they are, carrying over the gentle crashing of the waves down near the beach.

“I wouldn’t,” he tells her softly, barely-there, almost like an exhale.

She goes still, staring back. “You wouldn’t?”

“Like to be left alone,” he clarifies just as quietly. “I wouldn’t.”

The heavy _bathump_ of her heart is like an actual weight—throbbing just beneath her skin. “You wouldn’t?”

“Not even a little.”

“But… I thought you—”

“What did you mean earlier?” She watches his lips roll together, the tip of his tongue _just_ visible in the bright moonlight as it chases after a stray bit of liquid at the corner of his mouth. “When you said it wasn’t ridiculous.”

She’s having trouble remembering the simple action of drawing in air, feeling trapped by the weight of his gaze, but not in a way that she minds. She wonders if this is what he’s been doing since she left him in the kitchen—if he’s been out here in the open air thinking about her in the same way she’s been thinking about him. She didn’t think it was a possibility before today, but now...

“That depends,” she answers carefully, holding his gaze. “What were you going to say? Back there in the kitchen.”

He’s got one forearm draped over the arm of the chair, and she notices the way the fingers of that hand clench a little. “I wanted to tell you”—a moment, just one but so _heavy_ —one where she can almost _feel_ the way his eyes slide down the front of her—“that I have thought about that moment”—his body shifts almost imperceptibly, his hips rolling upwards in a way that’s almost unnoticeable, but Rey doesn’t miss it—“ _incessantly._ Even though I shouldn’t.”

She finds her body leaning out of the doorway as if pulled by a string, her eyes fixed on his as if caught in his gravity. “And why shouldn’t you?”

“A lot of reasons,” he murmurs. “But mostly: I thought you wouldn’t want me to.”

She licks at her lower lip, finding it dry. “But what if—” She tries to swallow, but it’s difficult. Is he getting closer, or is she moving? “What if I did?”

He makes some low sound, like a groan but softer. “Then I might… want to tell you. All the other things I’ve been thinking about.”

Rey lets the seconds tick between them, wrestling with her options. She knows that if she comes any closer, if she lets him _touch_ her—it’s all over. She knows there is at least six weeks left of this job. She knows that this could turn out to be a horrible, _horrible_ mistake, one that could rob her of this opportunity that she still isn’t sure how she landed in the first place. Would it really be worth it, just to scratch this itch that’s been plaguing her? Just to let him show her that _no_ —it isn’t just her that wants this so badly?

She should probably just go back inside.

She closes the door to the patio behind her instead.

“How drunk are you, Ben?”

“Not at all,” he says evenly. He gives a subtle shake of his glass, only a tiny bit of liquid left inside. “I’ve been nursing this for a while.”

It doesn’t take much to cross the distance—Ben watching her approach with an even stare as she moves on shaky legs to stand between his. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even _breathe_ , she thinks—just watches as she reaches to pluck the glass from his hand that rests against the chair arm. She brings it to her mouth slowly, holding his gaze as he watches her tip it back to swallow down the last of his scotch. It’s a pleasant burn as it goes down, and she makes a satisfied sound as Ben’s fingers curl into fists. She sets it on the nearby patio table, giving him her attention once more as she slowly, _slowly_ curls her body.

Her hands hover over his chest, peeking up at him for permission, and even though his mouth doesn’t give it—she thinks his eyes do. Her palms flatten against his chest over his shirt, moving in a slow path up towards his shoulders to curl there. She lifts a leg to slide her thigh over his, and then the other to do the same on the other side until she can ever so gently shift her weight into his lap, resting her ass there as her knees tuck around his waist in the too-large chair.

And she can _feel_ it now—everything she thinks he’s thought about. She can feel it hard and insistent between her legs.

She can’t help the way she rolls her hips, watching his lips part and his lashes flutter as she slides her clothed cunt over his erection that strains against his trunks. Her fingers curl around the back of his neck, bringing her face level with his as she whispers, “What else did you think, about, Ben?”

For a moment he does nothing—gaze level with hers as he swallows thickly. His chest rises heavily with an inhale that releases slowly through his nostrils, and then there is the warm weight of his hand as it suddenly curls lightly against her ass, molding there to squeeze gently, applying pressure until he can urge her to move again, to shift against his cock.

And his voice when he speaks is _ruinous_ —just as controlled as it’s ever been, just as commanding, and now it’s for _her._ “Would you like me to show you?”

She doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

“Good.”

It’s all he says, but Rey thinks it’s enough.

Because there’s another large hand at the base of her neck now, cupping, pulling her closer—one lone swipe of his tongue against his lower lip before she feels the heat of his mouth against hers. His fingers tangle in her hair to grip there as his tongue dips past her lips—no pretense, no warming up—just a desperate divide and conquer as it urges her to open. She whimpers when he rolls his hips again, thrusting lightly between her legs only to groan into her mouth, the hand at her ass pressing a little tighter, holding her a little _closer_ so that he can rock her against him. 

He turns his head to deepen the kiss, making throaty little sounds that seem between a hum and a growl—opening and closing his mouth as if trying to devour her, as if trying to take _more._ Even when they break away they’re moving across down her jaw, pulling her lightly by the hair to force her head to turn as he kisses down her neck greedily. His hand over her shorts slides higher, fingers finding the hem only to delve beneath, tucking under her panties to grip bare skin as he palms her ass. 

“Fucking shorts,” he murmurs. 

She is suddenly painfully reminded of how ridiculous they are. Fucking _Minnie_ _Mouse_ , for Christ’s sake. “Sorry,” she huffs. “I know they’re—”

“They drive me insane,” he breathes into her skin. “Want to tear them off you. Want to see what’s underneath.”

She makes a surprised sound when his fingers trace down the cleft of her ass, down and down and _down_ until his entire hand slides beneath, until his fingers dip into her folds from behind, curling to tease the wetness there. 

“Fucking soaked,” he hisses. He reaches a little further until he can ease two fingers inside her a little. “I always imagined you this wet.” She leans up unconsciously, bracing one hand against the back of the chair to give him better access, and he lets those same two fingers slip deeper inside, spreading them a little to stretch her. “Just for me.”

“It is,” she manages breathlessly. “Because of you.”

“Yeah?” His head dips until his lips can tease her nipple through the thin cotton of her t-shirt, tugging at it softly, licking at it after. “And these little nipples.” He sucks one into his mouth through the material, drawing a whimper from her. “Just as tight as they look.”

His fingers begin to pump in and out of her, sometimes drawing out completely to push up through her folds and circle her clit briefly before dragging back down to dip inside again. Rey finds herself rocking back unconsciously to ride his hand, closing her eyes as he continues to tease her through her shirt. 

She cries out loudly when he grinds his fingers particularly deep, and in an instant the hand curled around her neck is suddenly over her mouth, staunching the sound. “Have to be quiet, Rey,” he rasps. “Can you be quiet for me?” He pumps his fingers inside her slowly, stroking at her inner walls. “Want you to come on my hand first.” He tilts up his face to press his mouth to her throat, his tongue flicking against her skin. “Make you nice and soft for my cock.” A soft kiss at her skin paired with another slow pump of his fingers. “But you have to be quiet. Can you?”

She gives him a shaky nod, swallowing down the sounds in her throat as she grinds down on his hand, seeking more. She can feel the sticky mess she’s making, feels the way he spreads the slickness of her when he finds her clit to stroke there, and her head falls back a little even as his hand keeps firmly against her mouth, ensuring that she’s quiet.

Her sounds come only in unsteady breath now, in low whimpers in her chest—shifting her hips with every stroke, every touch—feeling it building inside as every facet of her skin seems to throb in anticipation. She keeps her eyes shut tight as the pressure builds and _builds_ —Ben working her faster, touching her _more_ , and she feels her thighs already beginning to shake with the way she’s tightly wound, feels her fingers begin to wind through his hair to tug and _tug_. She rocks her hips faster, her breath comes _harder_ —stars blooming in her vision and blood rushing in her ears. 

Her eyes fly open when it crashes over her, when she begins to tremble—seeing _actual_ stars above her as she groans softly through it. She can feel the slippery wet of her orgasm leaking out over his fingers, but he just keeps sliding them in and out, lazily now, kissing up her neck in a similar manner.

“That,” he rasps against her skin. “I’ve thought about that.”

She manages a choked laugh, pulling away to look at him when his hand falls from her mouth. “Oh, is that all?”

“No.” He isn’t laughing. Not even close. “That isn’t all.”

Her laugh dies on the air, but her lips remain parted, body warming impossibly further under his heavy stare.

“There are at least a dozen reasons why I shouldn’t fuck you,” he says dryly. “Why you shouldn’t _let_ me.” His hand is light but warm against her ass, still tucked away inside her shorts. “But I want to.”

“Ben, so do I. I want—”

“But I don’t have a condom.”

Her brow furrows as her lips purse. “Oh. Well. I mean.” She feels a blush creeping down her neck despite what he’s just done to her. “I’m on birth control. So if you wanted…”

She lets her words trail off, seeking some sort of clue to his thoughts in his features that she can just make out in the moonlight. There’s an indecisiveness there she doesn't understand, one that seems to leave him torn.

But she’s afraid now if she walks away without finishing this, without seeing it through—he’ll find some reason tomorrow why they shouldn’t. That she’ll lose her _chance,_

She leans in slowly, pressing her lips to his jawline to make a slow path down it, finding the soft lobe of his ear to trace it with her tongue. “It’s _okay,”_ she breathes. “I trust you. I want to feel you, Ben.”

She can feel him shudder under her hands, feels his grip tighten at her skin as she rocks against him lazily. If she slides back she can feel the heavy weight of his cock nestling against her ass, can feel it jerk against the material when she pushes back against it. 

His head falls back as she teases his ear, tucking one of her hands under the parted fabric of his shirt to let her nails scratch lightly down his chest. Ben makes a choked sound as he thrusts up suddenly, her body moving in time almost as if he were already inside her.

“You want”—his fingers trail up out of her shorts, leaving a sticky line against her skin before they press against her spine—“to feel me?”

She nods eagerly against his neck. “ _Yes.”_

He rolls his hips so that the shape of him slides against her ass through the material of her shorts. “You want my cock, Rey?” 

She shivers all over; no one has _ever_ talked to her like this—but she finds she doesn’t mind. Not one little bit. It’s a sharp contrast to his normally quiet demeanor—but the control, the _edge_ she always senses from him—that is no different. It’s just been repurposed. Repurposed in all the ways she’s been fantasizing about. She thinks she’s still nodding against him, having a hard time finding words now.

“I think I should warn you that I…” His fingers rub wet little circles into her skin. “I like control, Rey.”

She pulls away slowly, blinking back at him with a knitted brow. “Control?”

“I… like telling people what to do.”

“People?” She bites at the inside of her cheek. “Or me?”

“Especially you,” he stresses darkly. 

She considers that, knowing it is most likely nothing like she’s used to—but she can’t find it in herself to be wary of it. Not with the way he’s looking at her like he is. 

“I don’t mind,” she breathes.

She can see the way it pleases him—a flaring of his nostrils and a clenching of his lips. She yelps when his hands find her thighs to lift her, hoisting her up his body only to lay her back out over his lap—his cock now jutting up between her legs, stretching the black material covering it to impossible levels. 

His hands come to rest at the arms of the chair, giving her a pointed look. “Show me.”

“W-what?”

“I want to see how well you can do as you’re told,” he rasp. “Show me how much you want to feel me.”

He dips his gaze down to his shorts, letting it find hers again with a challenge in his eyes, like he’s daring her to stop this, to refuse what she’s just now realizing he’s wanted from her. 

But she thinks what Ben doesn’t realize—is just how much she’s wanted this too. She wants whatever he wants to give her.

So she doesn’t look away when she reaches between them, when she gives the velcro a tug to pull it apart—the sound almost deafening in the quiet night air. She’s met with dark hair that paints a thin line down from his navel to meet with a thicker patch below his abdomen, and she lets her fingers trace down that same line as she tugs the material free of his straining cock.

She swallows dryly when he’s free—watching him twitch under her stare, one shiny little drop of precum beading at the head as it oozes out. She brings her fingers to tease the base, sliding them up over the vein to feel it throb beneath her touch. Her thumb applies pressure to the crease just beneath the underside of his cockhead, rubbing it back and forth before dragging it higher to smear the wetness around and around to coat him. 

One might call Ben stoic, with his rigid posture and his wooden expression—but there are cues that scream otherwise: the way his fingers grip the arms of the chair, the way his breath sounds shallow now, the way his mouth goes a little slack as he just _watches._

She fists at the head to slide down in a slow stroke, keeping a tight grip down to the base only to work her way back up. She does it again, leaning in this time to let her mouth slant across his. Her teeth nibble at his lower lip before she soothes it with her tongue, letting this kiss play out unhurried, testing the softness of his mouth that is just as she’s been imagining. 

Her tongue delves inside to pet at his, swirling lightly as she continues to stroke him at a slow but steady pace. She feels his hands first at her hips when he makes it known that he’s pulled them away from the chair—sliding up her ribs and over her arms and her throat until they’re wrapped around her jaw, holding her close. He thrusts up into her hand as his breath catches, Rey swallowing down his gasp and turning her head to kiss him a little deeper, a little _harder_ —shifting her hips in search of some kind of friction to relieve the ache in her cunt that begs for something to fill it.

“Ben,” she murmurs between kisses, squeezing his cock. “ _Ben._ Can I—I need—”

“Lift up,” he grunts. “Up on your knees.”

She pushes up to obey, hovering above him even as his attention homes in elsewhere—his finger hooking into the fabric between her thighs to tug everything aside, exposing her bare cunt to the open air. She watches him bite at his lip as he brings another hand between them, sliding his fingers through the crease of her, giving her slow, teasing touches as if only assuring himself that _yes,_ she is soaked. Because she is. Absolutely. 

He brings those same slicked fingers to his cock to spread her fluids down the length of him, making a quiet sound while he covers himself with her, like a breathy hum. 

“Come here,” he instructs in a dangerous quiet, fist wrapping around the base to hold him steady. 

“What do you—?”

“I asked you to show me,” he reminds her, voice tight and eyes dark and hooded even in the glow cast by the moon. “I want to watch,” he says carefully, “while you fuck yourself right _here_.” He gives his cock a squeeze and she feels her mouth part in surprise. “Be as gentle as you need to be, sweetheart. I’m going to let you get used to me,” he murmurs, his voice like a thick honey that she can almost feel dripping down her skin. “Because when you do… I’m _going_ to fuck you, Rey.” The hand that isn’t wrapped around himself curls at her thigh to squeeze, looking up at her with eyes that seem to be burning. “And there won’t be a single fucking thing about it that’s gentle.”

She can _feel_ the way liquid heat drips out of her, the way she practically _drips_ with his words—her cunt clamping down around nothing as the air in her lungs seems to catch fire. She braces her hands at his shoulders as she brings her body closer, Ben’s eyes trained on the peek of her cunt that he keeps exposed with that one hooked finger. 

She watches his face as she lines herself up, letting her body sink down slowly, carefully—her breath catching when she feels the fat head of him press against her, prodding at her entrance until it begins to stretch, welcoming him inside. It’s harder to keep watching when her body begins to really _take_ him—feeling him hot and thick and _hard, so hard_ —mouth open in a silent cry as she inches herself down and down and _down_ until she feels the material of his swim trunks against her cunt.

She curls her body to rest her head at his shoulder, whimpering a little as she constricts inside—a fruitless effort because there is no room left, no give. Nothing but _Ben._

“Good,” he grinds out, the sound harsh in her ears. “Good girl.”

She shivers, making a pitiful sound as her cunt gives another vain squeeze. Ben turns his face to kiss at her hair, his hand rubbing soothing circles at her thigh.

“You like that?” He nuzzles beneath her hair to kiss at her throat. “Like hearing how well you take me?”

She thinks she nods; it’s a barely-there movement that feels like too much—and Ben hums against her skin in approval. 

“Fucking dream inside you,” he murmurs. “Knew it would be.” A slight nip of his teeth against her throat. “Can you move, Rey? Can you be a good girl for me and fuck yourself on my cock?”

She tries to lift her body, but it takes effort; she’s so fucking _full_ that it’s a stretch just to lift off of him. She feels the pant of his breath against her neck when she lifts her hips to slide up the length of him, hears it when she slowly sinks back down.

“ _Good,”_ he grates. “Do it again.”

She’s never done _anything_ like whatever it is they’re doing, never enjoyed being told what to do quite like she is now—but she wants _all of it_ now. Every grated word, every firm demand… it’s making her wetter than she’s ever been. 

She gives him another—a slow lift and a tight slide, her nails digging into his shirt that still covers his shoulders as she rolls her hips at the end of the movement this time. It brings him deeper, touching her in a place she’s not sure anyone else ever has—and she can’t help the long, loud moan that slips past her lips.

“What did I say about being quiet, Rey?” He flexes his hips, not a full thrust, but enough to let her _feel_ it. “Did you know this isn’t a private beach? Did you know that someone could come walking up that shoreline right now, and they might see you up here. Spread out on my cock like this. See the way you fuck me so sweetly. Do you want that?”

She whimpers even as she tries to lift her hips again, finding her limbs beginning to shake. “N-no,” she manages pitifully. “I don’t—”

“You can be a good girl,” he says sweetly. “You can work this soft little cunt of yours down my cock without making a fuss. Can’t you.” She feels his nose slide along her throat. “Tell me you can be a good girl.”

“I can”—she shivers when she feels the knuckle of the finger hooked into her shorts brush against her clit deliberately—“be a good girl.”

“Of course you can,” he tells her in that same rough tone that makes her toes curl. “Look how pretty you are. Full of my cock. Been _dreaming_ about you. Just like this.”

And that’s news to her, it absolutely is—but it makes liquid pleasure pool in her belly because she’s _not_ alone in this. He feels it too. 

“Ben,” she pushes up on her knees to lift off his cock, dropping back down as the girth of him nearly steals her breath. She’s just so _full._ “Ben, I need—”

“Do you want me to fuck you now, Rey?” His hand finds her cheek to urge her away from his shoulder, cupping her jaw and pushing into her hair as she looks back at him through hooded eyes. “Do you need a little more?”

She bites her lip, rocking her hips forwards a bit as she nods. She feels his finger tug at the fabric he’s keeping pulled away from her center, nodding downwards. “Hold this.”

She looks down between them where she can just make out the dark patch of hair against her own neat, wet curls—a peek of the base of his cock where it’s still buried inside. She manages to curl her finger against the fabric so that he can let it go, holding it aside as his hands find her hips. 

“Rey.” She looks up from his lap to find him watching her with those same dark eyes that got them into this in the first place. He leans in slowly until his mouth hovers a breath away from hers, curving it against her lips to linger briefly before he breathes, “You’re better than anything I ever fucking thought about.”

There’s a rush of sensation that fills her chest to flutter down into her stomach, the softness of his voice filling her with something that borders giddiness—but she hardly has any time to dwell on it. Not with the way he begins to _move._

“ _Oh.”_

He lifts her like it’s nothing, his hands tight at her hips as he pulls her up off his cock only to slam her back down again, thrusting up to meet her with a grunt. She feels him deeper like this, deep enough so that it’s _almost_ uncomfortable—but there’s that slide of him against her inner walls, that wet friction as every ridge rubs her in just the right way. 

She’s not sure what to do with her other hand, flexing her fingers before gripping his forearm, trying to hold herself steady as he thrusts into her with that same desperation, like he needs each one just a little more than the last. 

“You feel”—each word sounds like an inhale, and then an exhale—“ _so goddamn good.”_

He pulls her hips back and forth just to accentuate how full she is, to feel her. There’s a broken stream of muttering where she picks up things like: _can’t believe I’m_ and _so fucking tight_ and _such a perfect little cunt—_ each one making her heart beat a little faster, making her cunt squeeze around him again and again. 

He finds a rhythm that nearly steals her breath, a heavy lift and a sharp drop that has her bouncing on his cock. His head falls back against the chair as his mouth falls open in a throaty moan—alternating between eyes rolling back and homing in on where he disappears inside her again and again. 

“Gonna come,” he warns through gritted teeth. “But not without you.” He takes to rocking her hips back and forth again—not actually thrusting but giving her minute amounts of friction anyway, just enough to keep her on the precipice. “Touch yourself. Want you to come on my cock.”

He leans in to kiss at her neck while she finds her clit with shaking fingers—swiping at the swollen little bud that is already so sensitive, so _close_ . She tilts her head back to give his mouth better access while she works herself quickly, his sudden stillness making the throbbing of his cock inside obvious, making the fullness—the _heat—_ that much more heady.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Doing what you’re told. Such a good girl.” His teeth graze her skin. “Do you know what I’m going to give you for being so good?”

She pants out a breath, fingers still working as she manages to shake her head. 

He flexes his hips to thrust up into her, rolling her body with the action. “I’m going to fill this soft little cunt with my cum.” His hands slide over his hips to grip at the soft material of her shorts that cling to her ass. “Then I’m going to put you back the way I found you.” Another roll of his hips as he begins to move again, starting a building rhythm as her cunt flutters with an impending orgasm. “You’re going walk back to your room with my cum leaking out all over these fucking little shorts that you’ve been teasing me with.”

“I didn’t—didn’t mean to—”

“I want you to sleep in it,” he huffs. “I want you to wake up with it between your thighs.” 

“Fuck, _Ben.”_

“Wanna know it’s there tomorrow,” he grunts. 

“Ben, I’m—”

He’s lifting her again, bouncing her on his cock at that same rhythm that makes it hard to breathe, but it feels so _good_ that she can’t even be bothered. Her whimpers turns to moans that she can hardly contain—and even his hand that finds her mouth feels good too, feels _dirty_ in a way that’s _wonderful_ —and his breath hisses between his teeth as he keeps trying to fuck her with only one hand to lift her now, resulting in messy pace that _still feels fantastic._

Her fingers slip against her clit with how wet she is, but she just keeps going, moving as fast as he is, chasing after the end that she fears might _ruin_ her and yet she still fucking _wants_ it.

“Ben. _Fuck, Ben.”_

“ _Come,”_ he bites out. “Fucking _come,_ Rey.”

She’s not even sure where it comes from now—be it her fingers on her clit or his cock that hits deep, touching her in all the right ways—but it doesn’t matter, she thinks. It’s a slow, tumultuous pressure that swells and _swells_ until it _bursts—_ like fireworks exploding in her blood and her vision and deep, deep inside where his cock still moves—the sparks of it floating down to tingle at her skin as she shudders through it. 

There are more filthy muttering and heavy breaths that are hardly audible with the way her blood pounds in her ears, but she _feels_ it—when he falls over the edge. His hips get tight to hold against hers, his cock pulsing against her walls like a steady throb, and she can almost imagine him doing exactly as he promised, imagines his cum filling her up inside, marking her. 

He pulls her in close with thick arms wrapped around her, lips moving hungrily over her throat and her jaw and eventually her mouth as he empties deep inside. 

“Such a good girl,” he breathes. “Perfect girl.”

She shivers from both the praise and the sparks of her orgasm that still zing inside, falling against him in a boneless heap as his hands move across her back in heavy presses, like he can’t help but keep touching her. Even after, he keeps kissing her lazily, almost like making up for lost time.

He’s still inside her when he finally mutters, “I’m sorry.”

She blinks in confusion. “Sorry?” 

“I got”—he shifts his hips, her breath catching with the reminder—“carried away.”

“Oh. Um. That’s okay.” She smiles, feeling oddly shy now despite what they’ve just done. “I liked it.”

His lips tease at her cheek. “Did you.”

“Yes,” she says airily. “Ben, I’ve—” She bites her lip when he pulls away to look at her, studying her face. “I’ve wanted that for… a while.”

He smiles in that barely-there way of his. “Me too.”

She’s still reeling with that knowledge, having been so sure that she was _anything_ but his type—but she revels in it anyway, feeling oddly powerful that someone like _Ben_ could want her as badly as she’s just now realizing he does.

“What do we do now?”

“It’s late.” He hums thoughtfully. “We should… probably go to bed.” He frowns. “Separately.”

“Oh.” She feels unease creeping up inside. “Right.”

His fingers find her chin to tilt it up. “Ren… would be confused. This is… We should talk about this more tomorrow.”

“But you didn’t…” She swallows past the rising doubt. “You don’t… regret it, do—”

“ _No.”_ Suddenly his fingers are gripping her chin to hold it in his palm. “Look at me. Absolutely not.”

She blows out a sigh of relief. “Okay. Good.”

He gives her another soft kiss before he slowly lifts her to ease out of her, wincing a little as his cock falls heavy and wet and still just a little hard against his stomach. He carefully helps her out of his lap down to her feet, letting her pull him up from the chair as he tucks himself back into his trunks. 

He looms over her after, so much larger than she is—and she squirms a little under his gaze as she feels him beginning to leak out of her inside her underwear, just like he said he wanted. 

She’s only distracted from the sensation when his hands come up to cup her face, holding it in his palms as he ducks to slide his lips against hers. This kiss is softer than the others, but heavier somehow too—making her chest flutter and her toes curl against the wooden planks of the deck. 

“Go to bed, Rey,” he urges quietly against her mouth. “But know I’m _far_ from done with you.”

She has to press her thighs together with the way it makes her wet all over again—knees going a little weak. She manages to nod as she takes a deep breath, letting out a quiet: _okay_ with her exhale.

He’s smiling in that way again when he pulls away, letting his finger tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

“Good girl.”

Rey will never know how she makes it back to her bedroom on such unsteady legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it somehow uncouth to say that this took me longer than usual because I kept turning myself on yolo


	11. you remember the rules?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! I know I’ve been gone for awhile, and if you follow me on Twitter you’ve already seen me touch on this, and if you haven’t the tl;dr is life bad me depressed. I’m slowly feeling more like myself every day, so here’s me trying to ease back into things 😭

He’d sent her to bed last night, but Ben hasn’t gotten any sleep for himself. How could he, with the feel of her soft and wet on his cock still a tangible thing when he closes his eyes?

It had taken every bit of his restraint not to tiptoe down to her room, not to strip her down to nothing and have her again and _again_ in her room—but it can wait, he thinks.

Even if it kills him now, watching her playing with Ren in the morning sun—both of them enjoying their last few hours here before they return home. _Home,_ where he will have to try and sort this… _thing_ between them out properly. Something that will be difficult, given that all he can think about is touching her again, _tasting_ her—discovering every sound and every touch until he knows them intimately. 

She doesn’t shy away now when she catches him staring—she holds his gaze with something like promise from where he sits under an umbrella, her teeth working ever so slightly at her lower lip for the briefest of moments before she remembers herself. Almost as if she’s thinking about what they did too. As if she’s just as anxious as he is to do it again.

There is still a part of him that is slightly nervous about the way he’d been with her, having had no intention to show her _quite_ that much, no intention to be so _eager_ with her. At least not the first time. But he’s learning that if there’s one thing he can’t seem to hold on to with Rey, it is his self control. Ironic, given that it’s what he so desperately craves in every other aspect of his life. 

Not, he thinks, that she minded very much. It surprises him, or maybe it doesn’t, just how receptive she was, how _responsive._ He’d thought before he touched her that Rey was an absolute _dream,_ and now that he knows what sounds she makes when she’s full of his cock, how she feels wrapped tight and wet around him—Ben _knows_ she is. 

He knows that going forward will be tricky, _difficult,_ even—but still he can’t help but imagine what it will be like to have her again. To have her naked and writhing beneath him, tangled in his sheets as he makes a mess of her. It’s something he hasn’t stopped thinking about since he sent her to bed, and he knows that it is highly unlikely that he will be able to think about anything else for the foreseeable future. He’s too needy, too desperate to touch her again and again and _again_ —and having her in his bed will only worsen the situation, most likely. Still, it doesn’t stop him from wanting it, from wanting _her._

She catches his eye again from across the sand, stilling with the sun backlighting her tanned curves as the gentle lapping of ocean water glides over her bare feet—and he doesn’t shy his gaze away either now. He hopes she can see the way he drinks her in, the things he wants to _do_ to her. Especially in his bed.

Something that can’t come fast enough.

* * *

The ride home is… difficult. At least at first. 

Ren chatters about everything they did that weekend—about his treasures stored away in his bag: the sand dollar, the broken conch, the good number of other assorted shells, and Ben does listen, does his best to be _present_ while he absorbs his son’s happiness. Even if it’s a little difficult with the warm, soft body sitting on the other side of the car. 

Even with the way he keeps his attention on Ren he still finds himself stealing glances at her, the same clinging dress she’d worn for the drive up hugging every curve of her, reminding him of all that he still hasn’t seen. It makes for a very tense drive, to say the least. 

He can’t decide if it’s a blessing or a curse when Ren’s chatter dies down, when a glance to the backseat in the rear view mirror reveals the little boy slumped over in the seat, snoring softly. It makes the air seem a little heavier, makes him hyper aware that she is only a few inches away, that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted to.

His eyes flick up to the mirror often, mindful of his sleeping son who could wake at any moment—but he can’t help the way he clears his throat after a time, too desperate to say something, _anything_ to affirm that yes, last night really happened.

He goes for casual at first. “Did you have fun?”

“Hm?” A peek to the side reveals her raised brow, as if he has just drawn her out of her own thoughts. There’s a slight blush at her cheeks when she collects herself, her teeth working at the inside corner of her lip. “Oh. Yes. I had a lot of fun.”

He can’t seem to stop looking at her, his eyes going from the road to the mirror to one long sweep down her body only to repeat the entire sequence all over again. “So did I,” he murmurs.

Her voice goes a little airier. “You did?”

“I did,” he tells her, and then with a pointed look: “Especially last night.”

He can see the way she shifts a little in the seat in his peripherals, and he can almost imagine a slight wet between her legs, forcing him to shift a little himself.

“I didn’t think—” She releases a pent up breath. “I didn’t think that you could ever…”

He feels desperate for whatever it is she wants to say, but then again, he’s learning he’s just desperate for _every_ part of her he can get. 

He spares another quick glance to the rear view mirror to assure that Ren is still sleeping soundly—unable to help the way he reaches slowly to let his fingers brush over the fabric clinging to the top of her thigh. 

“You didn’t think I could…?”

Her breath catches when his fingers curl over her thigh to squeeze. “I didn’t think you could ever… want someone like me.”

His fingertips trace a line against her inner thigh, testing the softness of it. “Someone like you?”

“I’m just…” She makes a soft sound in her throat when his thumb strokes back and forth against the soft cotton hugging her inner thigh. “And you’re…”

Another glance to the mirror, just to be sure, and then: “Rey. You are”—he slides his hand lower in a soft squeeze—“intoxicating. You have been”—her mouth parts when his fingers work soft circles against the inside of her knee—“since the moment we met.”

“O-oh,” she manages breathily. “That’s… _ah_ , good. So are you.”

One corner of his mouth turns up, letting his hand return to rest casually at her thigh. “I meant what I said,” he tells her quietly. “I’m not done with you. Not even close. Unless… you wanted me to be?”

“No!” She presses her lips together, seemingly surprised by the sudden sharpness of her voice. “I mean—I just meant that I—” He glances over at her to catch the way her throat bobs with a swallow. “I don’t,” she answers finally, quietly. “Want to be done.”

“Good.” He lets his thumb stroke little circles against the top of her thigh, even this light touch sating a bit of the hunger she instills in him. “But we have to be…” He glances again in the rear view mirror, cataloguing the steady rise and fall of Ren’s chest before he goes on. “Careful. That is…” He hates this part even as he says it, because it is the _opposite_ of what he wants, but: “It’s probably not a good idea for us to… indulge. Not when Ren is home.”

She bites at her lower lip, the tip of her index finger reaching out to trace the knuckles of his hand. “I understand.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he tells her. “It’s just that he wouldn’t—”

“—understand,” she finishes. “I get it, Ben. I do. Trust me.”

He gives her thigh a light squeeze. “But my mother… will want to keep spending time with him. She’s already made it clear she wants to keep him more while he’s staying with me.”

“Right,” she breathes quietly, her voice coming out a little shakier than before. “Of course.”

“And I want to make it very clear,” he stresses, pressing his thumb just a little harder against the suppleness of her skin through her dress. He gives one last flick of his eyes to the mirror. “That there hasn’t been a moment since I met you, and there will not be a moment _following_ last night—that I won’t want to be inside you.”

He keeps his tone controlled, more so than he actually feels—but Rey’s breath is unsteady now. Light, airy, possessing the same qualities it did last night when she was bouncing on his cock.

“I want that too,” she says softly, her fingers grazing over his knuckles and up his forearm. “I have… for a while now too.”

The car slows as they approach a red light—and Ben allows his head to turn fully, taking in the slight flush at her cheeks, the stormier blue-green of her eyes that stare back at him from beneath her lashes, and he could have her right now, he thinks. He wonders how he will possibly get through days _without_ having her. His hand lifts higher until his fingers can brush beneath her chin, his thumb tracing at her lower lip even as they pucker slightly to leave a soft kiss there. He manages to swallow thickly as he nods slightly, affirming to himself that he can restrain himself. That he can keep from touching her until there is nothing keeping him from doing so. He _can_.

“It’s green,” she whispers, her eyes flicking to the windshield beyond where nothing but empty road lies to meet them. 

He gives another nod, a heavier one this time, because he can, he _absolutely_ can restrain himself. He’s repeating it like a mantra in his head as he gives his attention back to the steering wheel, telling himself that it’s true, that he _believes_ it—because he does.

Mostly.

* * *

It’s after dark when they all pile out of the car into the house, Ben carrying a still-sleeping Ren inside who refuses to rouse even when prodded about a late dinner. Ben worries about this, but Rey assures him that he would wake if he was really hungry. 

“He’s had a long weekend,” she tells him. “He’ll make up for it at breakfast.”

Ben nods, distracted momentarily by the way her fingers curl over his forearm in comfort, and she notices, if the way she draws them back is any indication. 

“I’ll just… put him to bed then,” Ben says, feeling somehow restless now that they are back under his roof. Back where he knows she is _so close_ and yet still _so far_. 

“I should… probably get to bed too,” she offers, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I’m sure he’ll be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow.”

“Right.” Ben’s jaw works as he watches her linger in the hall, unsure of what to do, what to say. “I have court early,” he says for no particular reason.

She gives him a shy smile. “Sounds like it’s bedtime for all of us.”

“Right,” he says again, still no idea as to what else he can say. “Bedtime.”

She bites at her lip, a habit that is threatening to undo him, and her eyes seem unsure somehow. “But I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“You will,” he promises.

A soft smile. “Goodnight, Ben.”

He holds Ren a little tighter if only to keep himself grounded. “Goodnight, Rey.”

He watches her leave him there just outside of the laundry room—padding down to her bedroom with only a brief glance back at him before she disappears inside. It’s funny to think that he’d thought things had been tense before, that things had been _difficult_ with her simply because of his own want, but it is worse, _so much worse_ now that he’s had her.

He tells himself to get a fucking grip. 

He focuses instead on carrying Ren down the hall to his bedroom, laying him gently under the comforter and pulling off his shoes one by one before he pulls the blanket up and over to tuck him beneath it. He smiles down at the exhausted little boy who sleeps blissfully with his mouth open, pushing the hair from his forehead and pressing his mouth there briefly, genuinely grateful to have spent such quality time with him this weekend. 

Realizing with every passing day that it’s something he wants more of.

He creeps out quietly to shut the door behind him, casting only a _brief_ look down the other way towards her door before quickly chastising himself. It would be _beyond_ difficult to touch her the way he wants to in this situation, given where they are—hell, what happened _last night_ was most likely a terrible idea, not that he would trade it for a single second—but he knows that he shouldn’t press his luck. Even if it kills him not to.

So he makes heavy steps to his own bedroom, shutting the door quickly behind him before he tugs his shirt over his head to toss it aside. He steps out of his shorts to kick them away as well, crossing the room to grab a pair of plain black pajama bottoms and step into them. 

He can’t help the way his mind runs away with itself a little, drifting back to the night prior, and not just the way he touched her. He’s thinking about after—the way her expression had turned unsure for the briefest of moments as she’d whispered nonsense about him regretting what they’d done. An _insane_ concept, from his perspective. He’d seen a color of that same worry in her face when she’d admitted in the car that his want of her had come as a surprise. 

Something else that baffles him, because can she not _see_ how enticing she is?

Still, he can’t help but worry that somehow he’s giving her the wrong idea with the way he immediately put distance between them. Distance that is as necessary as it is unbearable, but distance, nonetheless. Is he adding to her insecurity inadvertently? His thoughts drift back to that uncertainty in her eyes when she told him goodnight, only adding to his worry. 

Maybe it would be a good idea to reassure her. That is innocent enough. He could just knock on her door and assure her that it isn’t that he doesn’t _want_ to touch her again, it’s just that he’s unsure how to navigate all of this with Ren. That would be okay, wouldn’t it?

He doesn’t realize that he’s crossed the bedroom to his door until his hand is curled around the knob, frowning as he realizes his body seems to have made the decision for him. He’s distracted when he pulls it open, running through a good number of possible things he could say so as not to seem desperate while also reassuring her—so it takes him a handful of seconds after stepping into the hall before he realizes that another door down the hall opens as well.

She steps out into view to distract him in an entirely new way—his eyes drawn to soft-looking purple shorts that make him miss the Disney print oddly but still show off a good stretch of softer-looking thighs that makes his mouth dry a little. Her fingers wrestle with the hem of her plain white t-shirt, and when his eyes finally find her face he notices that _her_ eyes are trained on his chest, realizing all at once that he’d forgotten a shirt in his distraction.

“Hey,” he tries, feeling the way his heart seeks to beat in his throat. 

Her eyes flick up from his chest to his face. “Hey.”

“I was… coming to see you.”

A slight widening of her eyes. “You were?”

“I wanted… to make sure.” It’s so hard to _think_ around her. It was true before he knew how she felt inside, it’s a _thousand_ times more so now that he does. “That you knew that I didn’t regret last night.”

“Oh.”

“It’s just… you seemed unsure. Last night. And then again today. And I just—” He presses his lips together. “I just didn’t want you to think that I—”

“Hey, _hey,”_ she interrupts. “It’s okay. I get it. I know. I really do. We have to be careful.” Her fingers curl a little tighter at the hem of her shirt. “For Ren’s sake.”

“It’s just that—it’s just that he _loves_ you, and we—we don’t—”

“—know what this is?”

His brow furrows as he nods.

“I get it, Ben. I really do. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m a big girl.”

He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly with relief. He hates being so _uncertain_ of what to do. So out of _control._ He clears his throat. “Okay. Good. I just wanted to be sure.”

She gives him a shy smile. “I guess... goodnight then? Again?”

“Right.” He nods distractedly. “Goodnight. Again.”

She’s still smiling a little, and he has to _tear_ his gaze away, force himself to turn back and retreat to his room—leaning against the door and closing his eyes as he tries to muddle through his own thoughts. It’s just that there _is_ uncertainty with Rey, not knowing how to navigate, not knowing what this means or where it’s going—and it’s something he’s never been good with. Not knowing.

Maybe that’s why he feels so at a _loss._

His skin still feels tight and uncomfortable, almost as if there’s an undercurrent beneath that urges him to do something, making him restless, making him that much more _unsure._ Behind his closed lids there are still the fresh images of her spread out over his lap, the feel of her tight little body working against his—and it’s enough to make _anyone_ restless.

It’s just that he can’t seem to turn it off. This overwhelming _need_ he feels. He stares at his bed, knowing he should crawl into it, that he should pack all of this away and just _go to sleep_ —but he can’t seem to do that. Maybe it would be okay if he just—just a _little_ —

It’s not even a conscious thing really, when he turns towards his door again. He isn’t even sure where he’s going, or what he even plans to _do_ —but he turns the handle slowly to pull it open, to do _something_ —only to be thrown by a very _not_ empty hall.

Because Rey is just… there. Standing in the doorway with one fist raised as if she’d been about to knock. Her mouth is parted and her eyes are a little wide, and she looks just as lost, just as _restless_ as he feels. 

“I’m sorry,” she says breathlessly. “I don’t—” She swallows thickly. “I’m not sure what I’m—”

_Fuck it._

He pulls her to him in one swift movement, arms wrapping around her until his fingers are tangling in her hair, arching her body, turning her face up to the sudden assault of his mouth. He swallows down her quiet gasp, draws it in with his tongue that slides over hers. She melts into his touch and his body, her little fingers curling around his biceps as she presses up on her toes to seek more. 

“I’m”—she whimpers a little when his hand curls over her ass—“sorry, I”—he tugs her further into the room, kicking the door shut behind her—“know you said—”

“Fuck what I said,” he murmurs, nipping at her lower lip before he reaches behind her to lock the door. “You know why you came, don’t you? Tell me. Tell me why you came to my room.”

“I—” His lips move over her throat now, sucking at her skin. “I wanted—”

He pushes her into the door, tilting his hips until he can press the tented front of his cotton pants between her legs. “You wanted me to fuck you again,” he rasps into her throat. “Didn’t you.”

“ _Yes.”_ Her head falls back against his bedroom door, hands scrambling for purchase against his arms. “I wanted that.”

“Because you need it. Don’t you? Tell me you need it.”

“ _Yes,”_ she answers a little airier. “I n-need it.”

“Good girl,” he moans softly near her ear. “Perfect girl. Fucking _dream,_ Rey.”

He lifts her because it’s easy, because he wants her _closer_ —pulling her into his arms and carrying her across his bedroom to set her gently on his bed. Already she looks a bit of a mess, her hair wild from his fingers and her skin flushed from his mouth. Her nipples make hard little points beneath her t-shirt, and his eyes alternate from this to her face as he reaches to tease one taut little bud through the cotton.

He has to curl his body to slant his mouth across hers, but she tilts her head back to meet him just as his tongue slips past her lips. His fingers inch down her ribs to find the hem of her shirt, curling under the fabric as he slowly teases it upwards. 

“Arms up,” he breathes against her mouth.

She doesn’t hesitate, lifting both into the air so that he can pull away and slip the garment up over her head. His eyes rake over what's underneath hungrily—all tanned, freckled skin and soft curves and pretty pink nipples, and there isn’t _any part_ of her that he doesn’t want to taste.

Falling to his knees brings him eye level to her chest, making it easy to lean in and capture one rosy little bud between his lips. He hears the soft catch of her breath before her fingers push through his hair, only making him hungrier. He teases her with his lips and his tongue and his teeth—his hands curling around her ribs to hold her still even as she squirms from where she sits at the edge of his bed.

She makes some sound in her throat when his fingers curl under the waistband of her shorts and her underwear too, something like a whimper that he feels straight down to his cock. 

“You remember the rules, Rey?” He gives her shorts a tug to start dragging them over her hips. “Can you be quiet for me?”

“I can—” That same soft whimper when he murmurs for her to lift up, pulling everything down her thighs. “I can be quiet.”

“Can you?” The fabric falls in a tiny heap on the floor, and his hands seem so _large_ against the inside of her thighs as he urges them apart. “Can you keep quiet if I put my mouth on this perfect little cunt?”

“I— _ah.”_

His lips move against her thigh, so close to where he wants to be, but _not yet._ He lets his teeth graze her soft skin, gently, as if only testing the give there. There’s a building possessiveness inside him that begs for her compliancy, begs for _control_ —a wild concept, really, given how very _out of control_ she makes him feel. 

“Tell me you’ll be a good girl for me,” he urges hoarsely, his tongue teasing higher at her thigh. “Tell me you’ll be good while I make you come on my tongue.”

“I’ll be”—she inhales sharply when he turns his head to let his nose brush through the neat, wet curls between her legs—“ _good._ I’ll be a good girl.”

“Of course you will,” he mutters thickly, looking up to meet her heavy stare from where he sits between her legs. “You’re perfect.”

He holds her gaze when he looses his tongue, teasing at first, light, as if only to taste her. Her breath catches all the same, squirming to the point he has to curl his hands around her thighs and hold her tight to keep her still. He gives an open-mouthed kiss between her legs that ends on a soft suck at her clit—her thighs tensing under his palms as he hums around the slick little bud.

She tastes like honey and sex and _Rey_ —and it’s dizzying, having her against his tongue. Her sounds are muffled and choked as she obviously tries to hold them back, and he’s torn between loving the heady nature of having to be so careful and wishing that he could hear her really _let go_. He wonders what sort of sounds she might make if she weren’t holding back. He tells himself that eventually he will find out.

But there are more important things right now. 

Because even with the way he holds her tight, she tilts her hips in search of his tongue. She pushes closer greedily in a silent plea for more—and Ben is happy to give it to her. If he glances upwards he can see the way her lip is trapped between her teeth, see the way she seems to be struggling to keep upright as she trembles a little.

She watches as he hungrily mouths at her cunt—wet flicks of his tongue and heavy presses of his lips at her clit that have her gasping softly. He holds her gaze when he suctions there to tug on the sensitive little bud with his lips, petting it with his tongue as his cheeks hollow. Her back bows and her mouth falls open, and there’s an incessant shifting of her hips like she can’t help it, forever angling and pushing to take _exactly_ what she needs from him. 

He imagines doing this again with her thighs straddling his face and her hands at his headboard—letting her ride his mouth to take whatever she wants until she comes all over him—but that will have to wait. He’s too desperate right now, too needy to be inside her—and he wonders if that sensation might fade if he has her enough. 

Something tells him this is not the case. 

He circles the slick ring of her entrance with a finger before he slips it inside—teasing it in and out of her as he makes low noises in his throat, still sucking at her clit in a way that’s almost messy now. He withdraws his finger only to add another, curling them and grinding them deep to stroke at the place inside that makes her hand fly up to her mouth so she can bite the heel to suppress a moan. 

Even still there is a whimper in her chest, but Ben doesn’t mind it, _welcomes_ it, even, because she’s contracting around his fingers, gripping them tight in spastic little squeezes that tell him she’s close—and he circles his tongue around her clit noisily before pulling at it _hard_ with his lips to suck. 

“B-Ben,” she gasps in a hushed tone. “ _Ben,_ I—”

Her back hits the bed when she starts to come, and Ben licks her through it, twisting his fingers in a series of heavy pumps just to prolong the sensation of her tight, wet channel trembling around them. Her moans are muffled against her forearm that she holds tightly against her open mouth, her back arching a little from the bed and her chest heaving with effort before her arm wrenches away and her fingers shove into his hair to try and push him away. 

He comes away gasping when she can’t take anymore, turning his face to huff against her thigh and leaving a series of wet kisses there, trying to collect his breath. 

He leaves another soft kiss between her legs that has her twitching under his mouth, moving on quickly to press another at her pubic bone, her hip, just under her navel—climbing up her still-shaking body until he’s mouthing just under her jaw where her pulse thumps against her skin. 

“So pretty when you come,” he murmurs. “So sweet trying to be quiet for me. Such a _good_ girl, Rey.”

She shivers at his praise, her hands sliding against his shoulders as she turns her face aimlessly to kiss at his jaw. She’s boneless and soft from the orgasm he’s just given her, but Ben isn’t done with her, not by a long shot. 

“Turn over,” he urges quietly. “On your stomach.”

She looks at him with a furrowed brow when he pulls away, but he doesn’t waver in his gaze, willing to wait for her to obey. Her eyes seem a little darker when she finally gives him a quiet nod, rolling to her stomach beneath him and peeking back over her shoulder as she waits for whatever it is he has planned. 

His lips find her shoulder, kissing a path towards her spine as his hands slide down her ribs to settle at her hips—and he grips there tightly as he tugs them up away from the mattress, situating her until her ass is high in the air even as her face still presses against his sheets. Like this his cock slots easily against the curve there, and he thrusts against her for good measure even through his thin pajama bottoms, a shudder racking through him. 

“Don’t move,” he murmurs just before he pulls away from her. 

She keeps still as he moves away to look at her, resting only inches away on his knees to drink in the way she looks like she’s just waiting for him—ass high and cunt pink and soft and wet between her legs. He can see her face even from here, wide eyes and parted mouth as she watches him looking at her, her pink lower lip trapped between her teeth as he runs a hand over the clothed length of his hard cock.

“Look at you,” he breathes. “Waiting for my cock.” He gives himself a rough squeeze as he _watches_ the way her cunt clenches around nothing as if _begging_ for him to fill it. “Do you have any idea how incredible you look right now?”

Her hips squirm impatiently. “ _Ben.”_

“Shh.” He reaches to squeeze at her hip in quiet reassurance. “Keep still for me, sweetheart. Only good girls get fucked.”

Another soft whimper, but her hips still, and he can tell by the slight trembling of her limbs that it’s difficult, and it does unspeakable things to him—how desperately she’s working to please him. He doesn’t think anything has ever turned him on more. 

He rolls his pants down his thighs with his underwear in tow—kicking out of them and tossing them somewhere on his floor as he wraps his fingers around his cock to give it a few short strokes. He fists himself just under the head as he rubs himself through the slick crease of her, smearing his cockhead in her fluids as his mouth parts of its own accord, drawing in a sharp rush of air at the hot, wet feel of her. 

He dips the head inside once, and then again, and then _again_ —slowly, purposefully, watching the way her little hole gives around the fatter head just before the rim of his glans slips past the muscle there only to draw it back out. There’s a sound of surprise when he gives her a sudden thrust to sheathe himself entirely, and he immediately draws back out to leave her empty as he rubs a hand at her lower back. 

“Quiet, Rey,” he admonishes. She nods quickly even as she tries to push back against him, and he chokes out a laugh as his hand moves to squeeze at her ass. “Greedy thing.”

But what he doesn’t say is that he’s just as greedy as she is, and so it’s an easy decision to dip back inside her, to fill her up to the brim with him. Her cunt wraps around him like a glove, snug and wet and warm, and he lingers for only a moment before he gives her another punishing thrust that jolts her tiny body. She tries to muffle her moan in the blankets, turning her face a moment too late as the sound rings out in the quiet of his bedroom.

Ben clicks his tongue, his cock deep inside her but his hips still, unmoving. “Someone’s not very good at doing what she’s told.” He wraps his hands around her arms suddenly, pulling her upright until her back is flush with his chest so that both of them are up on their knees. “Maybe you need help, hm?” Another lazy thrust in and out of her as one hand curls around her jaw, holding it, another arm wrapping around her middle. “Do you need my help, Rey?”

He can’t say what it is about her that drags this side of him out into the light—something that’s always been there but not like this, never like _this_ —but he can’t seem to let go of this dark urge to claim her, to own every part, so he doesn’t try to. He leans into it instead, because for whatever reason, Rey seems to _enjoy_ it.

“ _Yes,”_ she sighs, pushing back against him. “Can you help me?”

There’s a surge of primal satisfaction that flares up inside at her obvious enthusiasm for this game they’re playing, and so it’s without much thought that three of his fingers creep up over her bottom lip to dip inside her mouth. Her lips close around them to suck softly, offering no protest as he pushes them deeper into her mouth, filling it. 

He holds them there as his pinky and thumb spread out on either side of her jaw, gripping it tight—admittedly enjoying the little sound she makes around his fingers when they press too far against the back of her tongue.

He keeps her just like that when he starts to move again, her mouth as full as her cunt—her body held tightly against his as he finds a rhythm. His lips mouth at her shoulder and his hips slap against her ass as he makes short, rough strokes, and every thrust seems to hit just a little deeper than the last, the slap of skin filling the air as her muffled moans reverberate around his fingers that are still shoved in her mouth. 

“That’s”—his breath huffs against her throat as he pulls her back against his cock—“better. Look how”—he growls into her skin when her cunt contracts around him—“well you’re doing.”

“Mmph.” Her arm lifts so that she can drape it back over his shoulder, winding her fingers in his hair. “ _Mmph.”_

Her other hand seems to be reaching between her legs, and Ben quickly bats it away to bring his own fingers there instead. He finds the swollen bud of her clit easily, circling it steadily as his lips find her ear. 

“ _Look at you.”_ He uses the hand just beneath her jaw to turn her face, watching her watch them in his dresser mirror. “Look how pretty you look, Rey. Look how well you _take_ me.”

There’s a stifled moan around his fingers, and he teases at the soft skin of her throat as he quickens the pace of his fingers on her clit, that pressure beginning to build in his cock, making his breath come shorter. 

“You gonna come for me?” He bites gently at her shoulder only to lick at the imprint of his teeth after. “Can you come nice and quiet on my cock, Rey?”

She’s nodding even as her lashes flutter closed, something he can see if he peers over at his dresser mirror. He slides his fingers out of her mouth just to wrap them wet and gentle-like around her throat—not applying any real pressure but holding her back against him as he drives into her with abandon. 

“Come on now,” he urges quietly, feeling the way she’s clamping down on him in short little grips. “Just like that. Come for me. Want you to fucking _come.”_

A sound starts to tear out of her throat, one that any other time he’d be desperate to hear—but as it is he clamps a hand over her mouth, stifling it. He feels it vibrating against his palm as her body shakes and her cunt quivers around him, a slick mess between her legs now that makes his every thrust stuttered and erratic. 

He keeps one hand over her mouth, just in case, as the other finds her hip to grip her there, holding her tight as he drives into her still-trembling warmth with everything he has. He has to bite his lip to keep his own rules, to hold back his voice—because it’s an all-over pleasure when he tumbles over the edge, his cock seated deep inside her as it twitches to fill her. His chest heaves against her back as he struggles to catch his breath, and it is several seconds before he even realizes he’s still holding his hand tightly over her mouth.

She melts a little when he pulls it away, falling back against him in a boneless heap as he holds her up with both arms to help situate her on her back. To his surprise she doesn’t try to cover herself or shy away—instead letting her arms fall dreamily over her head that she tilts her head prettily to smile up at him. 

It’s too tempting a picture not to fall over her, to settle his weight gently over hers and capture her mouth—so he doesn’t try and fight it, taking exactly what he wants to, because she wants it too.

There’s a frustrated huff of air from his nostrils as he quietly shakes his head, his lips resting against her cheek as he murmurs, “I can’t seem to figure out how to be… gentle. With you.”

He feels her cheeks dimple with her grin. “Who says I wanted you to be?”

“Jesus, Rey,” he groans. “If you talk like that, I’m going to want to fuck you again.”

“You say that as if I’d be opposed,” she laughs softly. 

He huffs out a laugh of his own. “I think you might be a bit of a brat.”

“You know? I think I might be too.”

He gives another slow shake of his head before he ducks slightly to run his nose along her jaw. “Some men might want to punish you for that.”

“Some men? Or you?”

“Especially me,” he murmurs.

“Do you think I would like it?”

He hums thoughtfully. “I think you would like what would come after.”

“Mm. Maybe I should be bad then.”

Ben can’t help but groan, burying his face in her throat. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“There are worse ways to go.”

“I can’t disagree.” He sighs against her skin, tugging her a little closer. “So much for my good intentions of restraining ourselves.”

“May they rest in peace,” she says in mock-sincerity. 

“I don’t seem to have any actual restraint around you.”

“If you’re looking for complaints you’ve come to the wrong place,” she chuckles.

“Mm.” Another soft kiss at the base of her throat. “Good.” 

“You know… Ren is… a very heavy sleeper.”

Ben’s lips curl against her skin. “He is.”

“And I can be… _very_ quiet.”

He lifts up then to cock an eyebrow at her. 

“Okay,” she concedes with a huff. “Mostly.”

He doesn’t tell her that he actually likes it better when she _isn’t._

“You play a compelling Devil’s advocate,” he tells her. 

Her lips curl in a grin. “Maybe next time you can sneak into _my_ room.” 

He kisses her in lieu of answering, and what starts as soft and innocent quickly becomes something altogether different. Her arms wind around his neck to pull him closer, murmuring between kisses: “What about early court?”

“That’s what coffee is for,” he mutters back just before he tugs at her thigh to work his hand between her legs. 

She’s smiling even as he starts to kiss down her jaw. “Well, like I said, I don’t mean to brag, but I _have_ become an expert in the espresso machine, and I—”

He shuts her up with a kiss, and she doesn’t argue. He thinks he’ll definitely be late to work in the morning.

He finds he definitely doesn’t mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah see I wrote this outline and didn’t realize till I came back to it that it’s like mostly porn from here in out hold your disappointment please


	12. better than any party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys I was so serious about this just being garbage porn from here on out

It’s amazing the difference a week can make. For example, a week ago, she was antsy and uncertain and most definitely _not_ being regularly fucked by, for all accounts and purposes, her _boss_ —but she can definitively say that _none_ of those things can be said today. 

She finds herself in sort of a daze as she sips at her morning coffee, thoughts full of vibrant flashes from the night before, hell, the last _several_ nights—of a deep voice and a hard body that can’t seem to get enough of _her_ , of all people. If she closes her eyes she can still feel the heat of his palms at her thighs, hear his low murmur of _good girl_ that might be becoming some sort of heroin for her, and sure there are ethical implications that she should probably mull over for this out-of-the-ordinary situation—but it’s hard to care about any of those things when you’re getting dicked down within an inch of your life every night. 

She’s leaning over his kitchen counter with a cup in hand as she watches the morning news from across the room—enjoying a quiet moment before Ren inevitably gets up and wants to indulge in something more spirited. She promised him today that they would assemble the Lego Disney Castle set Leia bought for him (over four thousand pieces, thank you very much)—and she imagines it will make for a very full day for the both of them. 

If she can manage to make it through the day with the fresh distraction of Ben’s _texts._

Her phone buzzes at the counter as if summoned, and she finds herself biting back a grin as she swipes it over to read what he’s sent. 

**Do you know how difficult it is to focus on depositions when I can’t stop thinking about the way you taste?**

A blush colors her cheeks as she sets her coffee cup back on the counter, picking up her phone to tap out a reply.

_I can definitely say that I find the experience equally distracting._

**I am more than happy to distract you at any occasion.**

_:) Speaking of, are you going to make it home for dinner?_

**That’s actually why I texted. I’ll be late tonight. I have a function that slipped my mind.**

_Mm. I wonder why. :)_

**No complaints here. Still. It will mean I won’t be home till after eleven. Maybe later. Depends on how long these geezers decide to drone on about their 401k growth.**

_Oh, wow. Sorry that I will be missing that._

**Trust me, you’re missing nothing. Although… I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to see you in formal wear.**

_Wait, am I missing Ben Solo in a tux?_

**I wouldn’t exactly say that it’s an experience to mourn.**

_RIP to you, but I’m different._

**?**

_Nevermind. Maybe I’ll just wait up for you. :)_

**Oh? Will you now.**

_Idk. What incentive might you offer for such an undertaking?_

**I can offer more… distractions.**

_Who needs sleep anyway?_

**That’s my good girl.**

A shiver passes down her spine, _hearing_ the words in his voice and feeling the effects in every facet of her skin that warms as if on command. It’s insane to her how very different things are in only such a short time—but she can’t find it in her to complain, not with the way she can’t seem to get enough of _him_ , either. 

She’s reading his text about getting some actual work done when she hears the sound of bounding footsteps down the hall—looking up to see a dark haired little blur skid into the kitchen with visible excitement lighting up his features. He looks around in a rush, little brow furrowing. “Is Dad already gone?”

“Mhm.” She tries to stow away her blush, tries to push the _conversation_ she’s just had out of her mind. “He left a little while ago.”

“Shoot.” Ren frowns for a moment before his eyes go wide. “Do you think we can finish the Disney castle before he gets home?”

“Well, he’ll be home really late tonight, he said…” Ren’s expression falters momentarily, but she leans in conspiratorially. “ _But_. Wouldn’t it be a nice surprise at breakfast tomorrow?”

Ren’s face splits in a toothy grin. “We can work on it all day! I’ll go get the box.”

Rey watches him flounce away towards his room, gearing herself up for an entire day of tiny pieces and sore eyes. Worth it, she thinks, knowing how much she loves that smile of his. Especially since it reminds him so much of Ben’s rare rendition of it. 

It’s amazing to her how much she’s come to care about these boys she met only weeks ago.

She drains her coffee cup before she gives one last peek at her phone, smiling when she sees Ben’s last text before he’d gone back to work. 

**See you tonight.**

Rey wonders if she’ll ever stop feeling giddy at the prospect.

* * *

They have the entire lower wall of the Disney castle assembled when Rey takes a break sometime later—leaving Ren at the kitchen table to eat his lunch as she drags out her laptop to finish up her enrollment for the new semester online. It’s crazy that she is paying for the classes out of her own pocket in lieu of loans this year, something made possible by paychecks already deposited into her bank account by Ben’s assistant. 

She doesn’t think she will ever fully get over what this job pays. 

There have been moments this week where she has wondered if it should bother her, the fact that she’s receiving wages from the man she’s fucking—but she tells herself that the two things are wholly separate. That the fact that they are making sure to keep their… antics away from Ren’s eyes means it’s not _completely_ sordid. It’s a threadbare differentiation, one that probably doesn’t offer near as much justification as she would lead herself to believe—but it’s something, at least. 

It’s a little crazy to think about only having one more year left of school—what should have been two years of grad school turning into four thanks to the wonderful experience of having to work her way through it. It’s a complete relief to see it coming to a close, to finally be close to the opportunity to get out there and do some real good, but she won’t pretend that it’s not a little unnerving, thinking of what she’ll do with her life after this. 

Thankfully she has met many connections through her volunteer work at Leia’s foundation and won’t exactly have a hard time finding a job, she thinks, but there’s a certain pressure that comes with graduation, with getting out into the world and _doing_ something that has her reflecting on all the other aspects of her life, wondering where she might be in five years. 

Thoughts that are only made more confusing by the dark, brooding man with a secret dizzying smile thrown into the mix. She knows that it’s entirely too early to even be _daydreaming_ about anything with Ben Solo, but can she really help it if some part of her is constantly thinking about how much she will miss Ren when this job is over? If she can’t help but wonder what will become of this _thing_ between her and Ben in just over a month when he no longer needs her in his space and with his son. 

She is not naive to the fact that she hardly belongs in his world, that there are years and vast differences between them that she can’t change—but she can’t help but think about his quiet: _you are intoxicating_ and its sequel of: _you have been since the moment we met,_ and that means something, right?

It’s silly of her to pin such notions to something so new, something that neither of them really know what it even is—but she can’t help it, really. It’s just that Ben Solo is a little intoxicating too. 

It’s enough to make anyone wonder, she thinks. 

She closes her laptop to stow it on the coffee table when she’s finished, trying to tuck those thoughts away where they can’t devolve her into a neurotic mess for no real reason. She tells herself that for now she should simply enjoy the moment. 

Still.

She glances back in the kitchen where Ren is tapping away at some game on his iPad as he finishes his lunch, swinging his feet to kick lightly against the counter as his head bobs a little in time with whatever is happening on his screen. She can’t help but smile at this little boy she’s come to love in only a few short weeks—knowing that the weeks to come will fly by much quicker than she thinks they will. 

She can’t help but wonder what waits for her at the end of them. 

* * *

She’s yawning by the time eleven rolls around—a completed Disney castle resting proudly on the kitchen table in wait for Ben’s appraisal and a tension in her shoulders from hunching over it that could use a bit of his large hands. She’s almost tempted to ask for a massage in lieu of Ben’s… _other_ talents. 

Almost. 

She glances at the clock to take in the late hour—unsure as to what time exactly Ben will be home and having taken to doing a few chores to pass the time. She’s carrying a laundry basket from her room now to pad down the hall with it towards the laundry room, a little blush creeping down her next involuntarily, just as it always does when she enters this room, unable to keep from remembering the terrible encounter she and Ben had here. If she can even call it terrible. It _had_ led to the eventual best sex of her life, after all. So maybe she should cut it a little slack. 

She drops the basket near the washer as she opens the lid, bending at the waist to grab her things and load them inside. When it’s good and full and loaded with soap she lets the lid slam close, cracking the knob to start it up as the telltale sounds of water filling the basin fills the room. She moves to the dryer with every intention of unloading it next, stooping to open the door just as a door of a different kind opens behind her. 

Despite her slight fatigue her lips curl with the sound of it closing again, rising again to slam the door to the dryer closed again before she turns to lean against it. And she was right about one thing, she thinks. 

Ben Solo in a tux is definitely something she wouldn’t want to miss. 

He’s reaching to flick open the button at his waist even as his eyes rake down the front of her—as if somehow her too-large t-shirt is just as appealing as the expensively tailored suit that hugs his large frame. She _sincerely_ doubts that. 

She crosses her arms as he stands a few feet away. “Fun party?”

“Mm.” His eyes are still on her thighs peeking out from underneath her t-shirt. “Sure. Fun.”

“I waited up for you.” 

He’s still not looking at her face as he shrugs out of his suit jacket, hanging it absently on a hook at the wall as he reaches for his tie next.

“Wait,” she says to stop him, moving to cross the distance. Her fingers reach to take over, finally meeting his eyes. “Let me.”

There’s a gentle throbbing between her legs as she works the silk through her fingers, the fantasy of doing so having played in her mind dozens of times since she met him, just begging to come to fruition. The two ends drape on either side of his neck when she works the knot apart, and her eyes flick up to collide with his as she slowly pulls it on one side, watching it slide from around his neck to come free in her hand. 

“I have wanted to do that,” she says quietly, “for _weeks.”_

“Have you,” he murmurs, fingers reaching to slide over her hips, bunching up her t-shirt. “Are you wearing anything under this?”

She bites her lip, dropping his tie on the washer kid behind her. “You could find out.”

“I could.” His eyes flick to the laundry room door across the way. “But first.”

He picks her up effortlessly only to sit her on top of the washing machine that still offers the sound of rushing water as it fills—and she watches as he turns to cross the room and lock the door there before stalking back to stand between her legs. 

She spreads them to accommodate his width, forcing her shirt to creep further up her thighs even as his hands press on either side of them to slide upwards. He hums a little when the pink lace of her underwear comes into view—working his jaw subtly as his eyes flick up to meet hers.

“These are pretty,” he murmurs. 

“Better than Garfield.”

His thumb dips between her thighs to stroke up her clothed slit. “I think you might be interested to know that recently Garfield became my favorite character.”

 _“Ah.”_ Her fingers curl at the edge of the washer to grip there as his thumb finds her clit to rub soft circles. “Really?”

“Mhm.” He pulls his hand away only to reach and curl his fingers in the band of her underwear. “Lift up.”

Her brow furrows as she peeks back at the laundry room door. “ _Here?”_

“I've wanted to fuck you here since I saw your pretty tits all trussed up and wet.”

“O-oh.” There’s another appreciative throb between her legs as he manages to inch her panties down her thighs when she lifts her hips slightly. “You did?”

“Does that really surprise you?”

“I’m finding a lot of things about you surprising.”

He cocks an eyebrow just as he pulls her underwear free from her legs. “Are you.”

“It’s just…” She bites her lip, hating her own insecurity. “You could have anyone.”

His hands still at the tops of her thighs, and when she looks up, she notices the frown on his face. For a moment he just stares at her as if thinking, then takes a deep breath before looking down between her legs. Her breath catches when his fingers find her there to tease through her folds without any real pressure, making a slow path up and down in a lazy way. 

“You know… it’s actually been… a very long time,” he tells her. “Since I’ve been with anyone.”

She blinks in confusion, finding that hard to believe. “It has?”

“It has,” he tells her, nodding slowly. “Do you know why?”

She can only shake her head, having no idea.

“It’s because no one interested me,” he says quietly. And then with a pointed look: “Not until you.”

Her mouth parts on quiet surprise, not sure how to really process that information. “Oh.”

“So if I could _really_ have anyone,” he tells her pointedly, the tips of his fingers _just_ teasing at her entrance. “What does it say that I wanted you?”

“I…” She presses her lips together. “I don’t—”

He leans in to shut her up with a press of his mouth against hers. “You are”—a slight nip of his teeth against her lower lip just as his fingers slide inside her—“stunning.” He pushes deep just to curl his fingers, pulling a quiet gasp from her. “In so many ways, Rey.” Another soft kiss. “Don’t doubt that.”

And it’s hard not to believe him, with the way he’s touching her, kissing her—so she loops her arms around his neck to pull him closer, her fingers curling into the collar of his dress shirt to hold him there. 

He makes a soft sound in the back of his throat when she finds the buttons of his shirt to begin undoing them—working them apart one by one as he strokes his fingers in and out of her. 

“I was thinking about this the entire time I was at that stupid function,” he tells her, his lips wandering to trace a path down her jaw. “Coming home to this.” Her fingers reach the last of his buttons to pull his shirt apart, and he releases a shaky breath when she finds the taut muscle underneath. “You make work almost impossible.”

She laughs softly, echoing his text from earlier. “I am more than happy to distract you at any occasion.” 

“Speaking of.” His thumb moves to pet at her clit as she squirms on his washer. “It occurs to me that you were waiting for me in only this t-shirt and your little panties.”

She bites at her lip. “I was.”

“And why is that?”

“J-just wanted to be comfortable,” she answers breathily. 

“Oh?” He rests his head on her shoulder to look down between them where his hand is working between her legs. “Then why are you so wet, Rey? Hm?” He pushes his fingers inside slowly, the wet sound of it ringing out even over the washing machine that still shakes slightly beneath her ass. “You know what I think?”

Her lashes flutter closed. “Hm?”

“I think you were thinking about the way I was going to fuck you when I got home.”

“Mm. Think so?”

His face turns until his lips can mouth at her throat. “I do. I think you were thinking about my cock here.”

Her inner walls give an involuntary squeeze around his fingers, and she can _feel_ his lips curling in a grin against her skin. 

“Is that what you were thinking about? Were you thinking about the way I fit in this pretty little cunt?”

She whimpers out of her control, her fingers gripping either side of his shirt to try and pull him closer. “ _Ben.”_

“Tell me, Rey,” he urges roughly. “Tell me you were thinking about my cock today. Tell me you were imagining what I’d do to this little cunt of yours when I got home.”

“ _Yes,”_ she hisses as he grinds his fingers deep inside. “I was. That’s what I was thinking about.”

She makes a frustrated sound when he withdraws his hand altogether—pulling back to look at her, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. He reaches towards her face, surprising her with the way his slick fingers trail across her lower lip, painting a line there that he watches intently. There’s something filthy about it, and maybe it shouldn’t affect her like it does—but then he leans in, his tongue tracing that same line, licking her fluids away before it delves inside her mouth heavily—and Rey’s skin burns and her heart hammers and her entire _body_ feels it’s lit up like a Christmas tree. 

His lips hover inches from hers when he tells her, “Then take it.” He rocks his hips towards her center to accentuate his point, the tented front of his slacks sliding against her. “Want you to take me out.”

His lips brush against hers just before his tongue dips back inside her mouth—and her fingers are shaking a little when she reaches to brush them over his cock that strains against his slacks. She gives him a tentative squeeze that has groaning into her mouth, trailing the tip of her finger along the length of his zipper before she starts to work it down. 

It takes her a moment to work him out of his boxer briefs, but he’s hot and heavy and _thick_ in her hand when she does—and she gives him a purposeful stroke that has one dewy drop of precum beading at the head.

His hand is at her cheek suddenly, his thumb resting at her lower lip to draw open her mouth as he pulls back to look at her, sliding the tip over her tongue to press there as his nostrils flare with every soft tug of her fist at his cock.

“You know I think about fucking this mouth of yours,” he says huskily. “All the time.”

She closes her lips to suck at his thumb instead of answering, and his hips flex to have him thrusting in her fist as a breath hisses past his teeth. 

“I bet your mouth would be just as pretty stuffed full of my cock as this little cunt is,” he half-growls, his mouth going a little slack with the way he watches her suck at his thumb. 

He tilts his head to the side to watch himself fucking her fist slowly, rolling his hips just enough so that the head of his cock rubs against her wet slit. 

“But that’s not where I want to come tonight,” he says thickly. “I want my cum in this soft little pussy.”

She lets him go when he starts to pitch forward, when a shaky exhale escapes him just as the fat head of his cock nudges against her entrance—and there’s a pressure at her jaw as his thumb pops out of her mouth and his fingers grip her there to force her gaze to meet his. 

He watches her expression when he starts to ease inside her, all slack mouth and hooded eyes that seem to glaze a bit with every thick inch that he gives her. And the kiss that comes after is gentle, just a barely-there brush of his lips when he’s sheathed and throbbing inside her—and she curls her fingers under his shirt to grab at his hips, holding him close even as the gentle motion of the washing machine beneath her has him stirring her up inside unintentionally.

His lips curl against hers. “Seems the washer could do most of the work if I let it.”

“Someone’s getting lazy,” she murmurs teasingly. 

“Oh, am I?” One large hand slides around the curve of her ass to squeeze there. “Are you asking me to move?”

She shifts when she realizes that he’s being perfectly still now, taunting her, keeping her full without giving her more. “ _Ben.”_

His lips trail over her jaw until they find the soft lobe of her ear, his voice hardly any more than a whisper there. “Are you asking me to fuck you now?”

She makes a frustrated sound as her nails bite at his hips. “Ben, I swear to God, if you don’t— _oh.”_

That first thrust is so hard that the washer rocks a little, his hand on her ass holding her tight at its edge so that she feels every inch of it as he bottoms out deep inside, a sharp cry tumbling past her lips.. His teeth nip at her ear as he does it again, a little more slowly this time. “You still need to be quiet, Rey.” A wet kiss at her throat as his hand reaches somewhere behind her, drawing back with his silky black tie in his fist. “You liked this, didn’t you?”

His thrusts are lazy now, just a shallow in and out that does little more than let her feel him. She gives him a slow nod, watching him wind it up in his hand into a folded pile before he holds it up to her face with a hungry look in his eye.

“Open your mouth,” he urges, and then with a bit more force: “Wider.”

The tie slides past her lips easily, her teeth coming down around it when he quietly encourages her to bite down on it. 

“Don’t let go of this,” he instructs. “If you let go, you don’t get to come. Understand?”

There’s a soft whine in her throat as his threat makes her clamp down around his cock rooted inside her—and his hands grip her thighs tight as again he slowly begins to rock in and out of her. She doesn’t know if he means that, if he would really rob her of an orgasm if she disobeyed—but just the possibility of it feels wicked and wonderful, and it makes her teeth hold his tie tight even if only just to play along.

His lips find her throat to suck there as he starts to fuck into her steadily, building a heavy rhythm, every thrust coming just a little faster than the last. 

“ _Fuck,”_ he huffs against her skin. “If it were”—there’s a slap of skin in the air that can _just_ be heard over the spin cycle—“up to me I’d have you”—his fingers hooks into the neckline of her t-shirt so his teeth can graze her shoulder—“bouncing on my cock _all fucking day.”_ She whimpers around the tie, feeling him hit deep, almost _too deep._ “Fucking live in this cunt if I could.”

His name comes out in a muffled _mmph_ when he pulls her closer to the edge of the washer, making every punishing thrust end in him bottoming out deep inside as his slacks slip further down his hips. All she can do is hold on as his cock delves inside again and again, teeth grinding down against the silk of his tie and nails biting into the firm muscle at his waist. 

His hand slams against the cabinet just behind her head above the washer, the other still gripping her ass tight as his thrusts stutter and his breath heaves. “Gonna come,” he grinds out. “Are you close?”

She gives him a jerky nod because she can feel it, that delicious friction sparking inside as that hot pressure floods her belly and lower to build and build and _build._ His thick fingers are at her clit in an instant, rolling the swollen little bundle without pretense, a moan vibrating around the silky material in her mouth that almost causes her to drop the tie altogether. 

“Don’t you fucking let go,” he growls. “Want that mouth full when I come in you.”

Her teeth bite down harder, so much that her jaw begins to ache—but Ben just keeps going, keeps driving into her at a pace that has the washer shaking more than it should be, touching between her legs in furious little swipes that has pressure swelling and _swelling,_ and—

Her body curls inward when she starts to come, trembling from inside out as a long, drawn out whimper catches against the tie in her mouth. Her fingers scramble for purchase, landing in the material of his dress shirt that bunches her ion grip as she tries to pull him closer. Ben devolves into a series of sharp grunts that fall one after the other as he keeps rocking into her, ending in low moan that bleeds into a breathy _fuck_ when he finally goes still. The washer whirs quietly beneath her, rocking back and forth minutely, but still she can feel the way his cock pulses inside her, throbbing against the slick mess inside as he empties. 

He’s still breathing heavily when he finally pulls away from her, gently tilting up her face to carefully pull the tie free of her mouth and massaging her jaw after. He leans in to kiss each side when he’s done, ending with a soft kiss at her mouth that he takes his time with. 

“That,” he says hoarsely, “was better than any fucking party.”

She grins against his mouth. “Still glad I got to see you in a tux.” She gives his dress shirt a playful tug. “Even if it didn’t last long.”

He hums thoughtfully as his lips press at the corner of her mouth. “Maybe I’ll just take you to the next one so you can enjoy it a little longer.”

“Really?” Her eyes widen a little as he pulls away to meet her gaze. “You’d want to?”

“If you don’t think I wouldn’t jump at the chance to dress you up in something pretty just to know that I could strip it off you later… you are sorely mistaken.”

There’s a flutter in her chest that spreads down into her belly, biting at her lip just to keep what feels like a stupid grin from spreading across her face. “Is there dancing at your work parties?”

“There might be,” he murmurs.

The fluttering in her belly turns to full-on swooping. “I wouldn’t… say no to that.”

“Well.” His hand finds her cheek to cup there, his thumb rubbing back and forth against her skin. “It’s a date.”

_A date._

It’s funny to think about, considering the number of times he’s been inside her at this point. They sort of did everything a little out of order here. 

He pulls out of her with a wince, tucking himself back into his slacks as he looks around the floor for her underwear. He holds them up with a lopsided grin when he finds them, and she snatches them away as she hops down from the washer to step back in. 

“Oh, by the way,” she mentions. “You’re staying for breakfast in the morning.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “I have no objections to that, but may I ask why?”

“You’ll see,” she laughs softly. “Just act surprised when you see the four thousand piece monstrocity on your kitchen table.”

“Color me intrigued.”

She steps close then with a sly grin at her mouth, winding her fingers through his to tug at his hand. “You know… if you set an early enough alarm you could probably get away with sleeping in my bed.”

“Is that so.” His eyes dip to her mouth. “I can’t promise you I’ll let you sleep.”

Her smile hitches up a fraction as she gives his hand another tug, leading him out of the laundry room to her room. 

She doesn’t tell him she’s not even tired now anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ben said put this pussy on spin cycle im giving it a heavy load oh Jesus im sick


	13. looked like you needed that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> garbage! get your hot garbage! *tosses trash at you like a 19th century newsboy*

He’d meant it when he said that work has become… difficult, and that is more than evident now with the way he’s read the same line from the case file in front of him more than a dozen times now. With every day that passes this summer he finds himself wanting to be away from the office more and more—something that is unheard of for him. 

He spends most of his day thinking how _they’re_ spending _their_ day, and lately, more than anything, he just wants to spend it with them. He’s not really sure what’s come over him.

Or rather, he _does_ —he just doesn’t know what to do about it. 

Because not only is he just now understanding the _gravity_ of how much he’s missed out on these last eight years with Ren, is just now coming to terms with how much better his life might have been with more of his son _in_ it—there’s also the matter of the pretty little thing currently _living_ in his home, one that he can’t seem to get through a single moment of his day without thinking about the way she looks when she comes. 

He wonders how he gets any work done at all at this point.

He’s saved from trying to get through the paragraph in front of him by the sharp ringing of his phone at his desk—and if he snatches it up just a little too quickly with hope that it might be home, well, that’s neither here nor there.

“Ben Solo.”

“Hey, Ben,” Amilyn greets. 

He tries to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Amilyn. Hi. How are things?”

“Much better than last week, at the very least thankfully,” she tells him. “We’ve got the closing scheduled now.”

There’s a tightness in his chest upon knowing this, and he keeps his tone even as he asks, “Oh? When will that be?”

“Looking like the twenty-fourth of July.”

 _That’s only three weeks away,_ Ben thinks.

“Oh. So… you might be back closer to your original date then?”

“As long as everything goes well I should be back home before August,” she says. “Thank goodness. I miss my little guy. How is Ren? He told me how much fun you had at the beach house recently.”

It takes all he has to push _the beach house_ from his mind, because it brings with it soft gasps and a tight body—not at all appropriate memories when talking to the mother of one’s son.

He clears his throat, quickly steering the conversation away. “Perfect. He’s really settled in here. He and Rey spent the entire day yesterday building a castle out of LEGO. You should have seen this thing. It’s nearly as tall as he is. Rey said there were over four thousand pieces. He was so proud of it this morning at breakfast though, he and Rey—”

“Rey seems to be making herself at home as well,” Amilyn comments suddenly, drawing Ben out of his musings. There’s not anything malicious in her tone, in fact, it’s almost like amused curiosity. “I've spoken with her a few times now. Such a sweet girl.”

Ben swallows, feeling a little weird talking about this. 

“She is.”

“She mentioned she’s about to start her last year of grad school, yes? I forgot to ask what she’s going for.”

“Social work,” Ben tells her. “She wants to work at an adoption agency, or maybe child welfare.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Amilyn hums. “She must be what, twenty-three? Twenty-four?”

“Twenty-five,” Ben corrects. “It’s taken her a little longer since she’s been putting herself through.”

“How admirable,” Amilyn says, sounding genuine. She laughs a little, her voice nonchalant. “She’s the same age you were when we met.”

Something about that makes Ben’s skin prickle, leaving him uncomfortable, that comparison. He knows this isn’t Amilyn’s intention; if he’s learned anything about her it’s that she doesn’t really have a vindictive bone in her body, reasonable to a fault—but still it wriggles inside to plant some seed that he doesn’t want to cultivate, one that makes him anxious for reasons he can’t quite yet understand. 

“I know she’s fantastic with Ren, at the very least,” Amilyn goes on, drawing Ben out of his worried thoughts. “He can’t seem to stop singing her praises.”

Ben leans back in his office chair, unable to help the way he thinks of them together, both of them, making his home brighter than it's ever been. “Yeah,” he answers absently. “He loves her.”

Amilyn’s voice still has that probing quality, something that strangely reminds him of when his mother is trying to wheedle something out of him. Maybe they’ve been spending too much time together.

“You sound happier, Ben. This summer sounds like it’s been good to you.”

He thinks that maybe there is a question in her statement that she isn’t quite asking, one that he isn’t really ready to answer right now. So he gives her the truth, even if only just a portion of it.

“I’ve really enjoyed having Ren around so much,” he tells her. “I’ve… really missed out on a lot, I think.”

She sounds genuinely pleased when she answers, “That makes me really happy to hear.”

Ben frowns for reasons he can’t put his finger on, feeling as if maybe he should say something, but the sudden click of her tongue robs him of the chance. 

“Oh, shoot. I’m getting another call. Can I call you later?”

He brushes aside his strange nerves. “Sure. Of course.”

“It was good talking to you, Ben. Say hi to Ren if I don’t get to call before dinner.”

“I will.”

“And to that sweet nanny of yours,” she offers, her tone still possessing that same amused air. “Bye, Ben.”

“Bye.”

He hangs the phone back on the receiver only to stare at it for a few moments after, mulling over the conversation he’s just had. There’s something about it that keeps poking away at something inside him. Something that he thinks he’s kept a lid on up until Amilyn had pried it open with only a sentence.

_She’s the same age you were when we met._

It’s not something he’s given _too_ much thought to, the difference between him and Rey in age—not outside of how it had seemed preposterous at first glance that she would want him because of it, that is. He wonders if that’s because he’d been too afraid to pull too hard at that thread. 

Maybe it only bothers him not because they haven’t discussed what this… thing between them really means. There hasn’t really been time, to be fair, with the way they’ve both been working through the pent-up tension that had apparently been plaguing them both in the weeks leading up to the beach house—but he’s thinking about it now. 

He can’t help but be bothered now, thinking of being her age, of everything that happened between him and Amilyn, what had happened in the years _following:_ how much he changed, how much his eyes were opened to so many things, how _different_ he is now than he was then. 

He placates himself with a gentle reminder that there are definite differences between his… relationship (if he can call it that, which he’s realizing now he doesn’t know if he can, and why does that bother him so much?) with Rey and the brief affair with Amilyn—or at least, he thinks there is. 

Isn’t there?

It’s enough to make his head hurt thinking about it.

He tries to push it from his mind, because there are weeks yet where nothing has to change, and decisions don’t have to be made—but he knows that soon enough everything will come to a head, unable to be ignored. 

But he tells himself there will be time for that later; he tells himself not to worry about it right now, and he doesn’t. 

Mostly.

* * *

He’s still _not thinking_ about it when he gets home hours later, a rare occasion where he arrives at his house at a reasonable hour, just in time to breathe in the enticing smell of whatever Rey is making for dinner. She peaks over her shoulder at him from the stove when he steps into the kitchen, and he doesn’t miss the way her eyes flick to his fingers at his tie while he does it, which only makes him think about the evening prior, which only makes him want to cross the kitchen and bend her over the counter top, _which only_ brings him back to the odd uncertainty that Amilyn had unintentionally planted earlier.

“Breakfast and dinner?” Rey smiles at him before she turns back to stir whatever is in her pan. “Who are you and what have you done with Ben Solo?”

And it’s a simple thing, the way she teases him, but it makes his chest tight in his throat thick because it’s getting harder and harder to ignore how much he _likes_ this. This easy domesticity. 

There’s a little smile at his mouth as he pulls his tie free. “I’m as surprised as you are.”

“Well, not to brag,” she says, “but this stir fry is going to be amazing. So. You picked a good day to come home on time.”

He doesn’t tell her that every single day would be a good day to come home on time to them. Even in his head it sounds cheesy.

He glances around the kitchen instead. “Where’s Ren?”

“His room,” she informs him with a jerk of her head towards the hall. “You’re welcome to go tell him dinner is almost ready, if you want.”

Ben nods absently. “Yeah. I’ll do that.”

He doesn’t realize she’s watching him any more when he realizes he’s sort of just standing in the kitchen, and it isn’t until she speaks again that he snaps out of his musing. 

“Are you okay?” She’s looking at him with concern now. “You seem tense.”

He presses his lips together, trying to keep from frowning even as he feels his brow knit in thought. “I’m alright,” he assures her. “It’s just been… a weird day.”

She’s still looking at him as if she can see right through him, but he’s not quite ready to voice this strange worry that he just realized he was carrying. Better to sort it out on his own first, he thinks.

“I’ll just… go get Ren,” he says by way of diversion. “We’ll wash up.”

Rey gives him an airy nod, but he can tell by her expression that she wants to ask more. He wonders if it’s really that noticeable, how off he feels tonight.

He finds Ren sitting on the floor in front of his bed, tapping away at a controller to play some game (not the racing one, Ben notices)—and Ben gives a little knock at the door to announce his entry. 

“Hey, little man,” Ben greets. 

Ren turns his head, expression visibly brightening, and it’s something Ben thinks he’ll never grow tired of, the way this little boy gets so _genuinely_ happy just to have him around. 

“Dad!” He scrambles you his feet, dropping the controller as he collided with Ben’s front to wrap his arms around Ben’s middle. “You’re home!”

“I wanted to have dinner with you guys,” Ben tells him.

“Rey is making chili,” Ren informs him.

“Oh?”

Ren’s nose wrinkles. “She says it has turkey in it though.”

“Turkey isn’t bad,” Ben says with a quiet chuckle. “You won’t even be able to tell the difference.”

“That’s what _Rey_ says,” Ren huffs with a roll of his eyes.

Ben ruffles his hair, grinning. “Go wash your hands. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“Okay, okay,” he answers begrudgingly. 

Ben watches him bound off towards the hall bath—moving towards his own bedroom with the intent of finding his own bathroom to wash his hands before dinner. He’s admittedly still a little… off; he can sense it in the way his mind can’t seem to move away from that one innocent sentence uttered by Amilyn hours before, and it’s almost impossible to shake off this strange unease he feels from it.

He tells himself he’ll be less tense at dinner. 

Hopefully. 

* * *

For the most part he thinks he manages to act mostly normal during the entirety of dinner—listening to Ren recount he and Rey’s trip to the grocery store and the way they’d grabbed snow cones after from a little stand nearby. Before the summer, he thinks that none of these things would be occasions to make him jealous, so it’s a little odd, the pang of envy that throbs in his chest over such a simple thing.

He saw them both this morning, and yet sitting here listening to their very normal day, he finds himself missing them. _Both_ of them. Is it insane, he wonders, to feel this way? To be so dissatisfied with the way of life that he’s lived for nearly a decade after only a short time of having been shown a different way? 

Everything surrounding Ren makes absolute sense, he thinks, this is his _son_ after all, but the way he finds himself daydreaming of coming home to not only him but _Rey_ as well—of not having to curb his urges to wrap his arms around her, of kissing her in his kitchen, of taking her places and showing her things—she might think he was insane, the things he’s daydreaming about it so soon. 

If the look she gives him after dinner while he helps clear the table is any indication, he thinks maybe he hadn’t pulled off _less tense_ as much as he might have liked.

She doesn’t press him while they wash the dishes together, even gives him space after, leaving him to go run a bubble bath for Ren with the promise of letting him play with some new toy boat set they picked up earlier. Ben takes the opportunity to excuse himself to his bedroom, creeping down the hall with every intention of showering himself and hopefully coming out of it after without this doom and gloom attitude—only taking a short moment once inside to scrub his hands down his face, telling himself that worrying about these things right now don’t do anyone any good. 

He’s still standing aimlessly behind his closed bedroom door when a soft knock there takes him by surprise, and he spins to turn the handle and open it only to meet a Rey-shaped blur ducking inside.

“Rey,” he starts with confusion, shutting the bedroom door quickly. “What are you—”

She takes him by surprise _yet again_ when she pushes up on her toes to loop her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a soft kiss. Her fingers wind in his hair and her mouth moves sweetly against his—and for a moment he just melts into it, not really in the right frame of mind to question it. 

So if he’s a little dazed when she finally pulls away, it’s with good reason, he thinks. 

“You looked like you needed that,” she murmurs after, still carding her fingers through his hair. 

He ducks to steal another kiss just because she’s here, and he can. “It was just a weird day. I’m sorry to bring it home with me.”

“Don’t apologize,” she soothes. “I know how stressful your job is.” One of her tiny little hands slips down to palm his chest, extending a finger to tease at the buttons of his dress shirt as she bites her lip. “I just thought—well, I mean… Ren is in the bath now, and he’ll be in there for a bit, I imagine. I thought maybe I could…”

She looks up at him expectantly, waiting for him to fill in the blanks, but he can only stare back at her blankly. “You could…?”

“I thought maybe I could take your mind off your bad day,” she says a little quieter, her hand skimming over his abdomen to find the zipper of his slacks and palm there. “If you want.”

“ _Now?”_

“Don’t worry,” she tells him, urging him to turn until his back hits the door. “I’ll be quick.”

And he doesn’t really have time to question it, not that he actually wants to—not with the way she sinks suddenly to her knees in front of him. His mouth goes dry and his eyes go wide as her little fingers begin to work his belt from the loops of his slacks, the clink of it seeming almost deafening in the space as he watches her move to his zipper next.

“You said last night you thought about this,” she says in a hushed tone. “About fucking my mouth.”

His cock gives a heavy twitch at her words, already imagining it. “I do.”

“I do too,” she admits. “I want to make you feel good.”

He wants to tell her that she _does_ already—but he thinks that he’s still a little at a loss for words, seeing the way she peeks up at him through her lashes just as her hand delves inside his slacks. 

She palms his cock first through the tight material of his boxer briefs, tracing his shape with her forefinger and thumb before she hooks a finger into the waistband. He bobs free when she pulls the material down, her fingers immediately wrapping around him to give him a heavy stroke from base to tip that has his breath hissing past his teeth. 

She keeps her eyes trained upwards to keep looking at him when she unsheaths her tongue and flattens it just under the broad head, closing her lips around the tip to swirl her tongue there. His mouth parts as his lashes flutter with the heat of her mouth. He raises his hand almost instinctively to slide his fingers through her hair, pushing it away from her face just as she lets his cockhead bulge against her cheek. He could come from the visual alone, if he really wanted to.

She pushes up on her knees a bit as she grabs his hip with one hand, letting the other fist at the base of his cock as she slowly, _slowly_ begins to push her lips down the hard length of him. Her eyes drift close as she takes him as deep as she’s able—lips meeting her fist as she swallows around the fat head that nestles in the soft warmth of her throat. 

“ _Fuck,_ Rey,” he grinds out. “Just like that. Jesus _fuck.”_

His head falls back against the door as his hips jerk a little, trying to keep still as she draws back up his cock to let her tongue caress the underside. His stomach clenches when tongue curls around the flared lip of his glans before giving the tip of him a light swirl, and he nearly chokes when she starts to flick her tongue against the little slit there.

She lets the entire head slip past her lips after, holding it in her mouth, giving his shaft a heavy stroke up and down before releasing him from her mouth. She offers up some of her saliva there to let it drip down on his cockhead, immediately slicking her fist down his length in steady strokes. 

She holds him up straight only to duck her head beneath, his thighs shaking a little as she licks him from the seam of his balls all the way up the underside of his cock only to pull him back inside her mouth, beginning to bob her head in time with her still-stroking fist.

“You’re gonna make me come in your fucking throat,” he says breathlessly, trying and failing to maintain any semblance of control. “That what you want?”

She hums around his cock as her head gives a jerky little nod that only shoves him deeper inside, her nostrils flaring as she breathes in deep through her nose. 

He grinds his teeth together so hard he fears they might chip. “You want my cum in that hot little mouth of yours?”

She moans softly as she pushes down to meet her fist that works the base, and he can see the way her other hand disappears between her legs, the way her wrist works in a way that can mean nothing else but that she’s touching herself. 

“Are you gonna come with my cock in your mouth, Rey?” His words come out harsh and grating, trying to keep his voice low, trying his best to be as quiet as he normally demands of _her._ “Your mouth is a fucking dream,” he pants, his fingers curling in her hair until he’s half gripping there. “Knew it would be. _Fuck.”_

He fists her hair just above her head, not tight enough to hurt her but tight enough to hold her there—and her hand slips from his cock to reach for his hip, squeezing him there as if in encouragement as she looks up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

He gives her a nod, and then a slow, curious thrust into her mouth—and Rey just closes her eyes with a soft hum around him. He slides over her tongue slowly but purposefully, pushing deep into her mouth, as deep as he can until he hears the little sounds she makes in resistance, immediately drawing back out as he gauges how much she can take. He repeats the entire process to get a feel for her, his teeth grinding together and his cock painfully hard with the need to come, but he holds on as he does it all again, and _again_ —each thrust coming just a little faster than the last.

“There is”—he closes his eyes as he gives her hair a soft tug—“no goddamn part of you”—he tilts her head back as he starts to rock in and out of her mouth faster—“I don’t want to fuck.”

She whimpers when he drives a little deeper—eyes a little bleary and wet—but she doesn’t shy away. She pushes herself up a little straight on her knees, wrist still working furiously as she teases her clit—opening a little wider as his cock nudges at the back of her _throat._

“ _Fuck,”_ he huffs. “Gonna come. Are you close? Are you going to swallow it like a good girl?”

She only closes her lips around him in answer, forcing him to feel every wet inch of her mouth as he delves inside again and again and _again._ There’s a soft mewling in her throat that is sharp and staccato as it builds and builds, morphing into a quiet moan as her body begins to tremble, one that reverberates around every inch of his cock and pulls him right over the edge.

His breath leaves him in a rush as he grunts through it, holding his cock in her mouth with a heavy press against the back of her head as he spills into her throat. He feels her swallowing around him, taking everything he gives her—stars blooming in his vision from the sheer pleasure of it all.

His ragged breath is the only sound that remains after—his fingers unwinding from her hair one by one as he pulls away to let his softening cock fall from her mouth. He helps her up on shaky legs as he pulls her against his chest, not caring in the slightest that his cum is probably still on her tongue as his hand wraps around the back of her neck forcefully to pull her in for a kiss. 

Her hands flatten against his chest as he cages her in, kissing her long and slow as his heart slowly begins to cease its erratic pounding. 

And it isn’t until he draws back a little that her lips curl against his, scratching her nails playfully against his shirt. “Feel better?”

“I don’t think they have a word for how I feel,” he says with a huff of a laugh. He lets his lips slant against hers again briefly. “How are you so perfect?”

She doesn’t answer, but that shy grin at her mouth speaks volumes, he thinks—at least for him. How is he supposed to get a handle on all the things she makes him feel and the anxieties that come with it when she’s looking at him like that?

She gives him one last soft kiss. “Go shower while I sneak back out.”

“One of these days I’ll be able to just drag you in there with me.”

She squeezes his sides teasingly. “I’ll take you in that massive tub first, I think.”

He has to force himself not to dwell on _that_ image just to keep from getting hard again.

“Deal,” he tells her.

That same shy grin is at her mouth all the way out his door. Ben closes it behind her only to lean in and rest his forehead against it, thinking about the trouble that he’s in. Because he still has no idea how to make sense of the things he’s feeling, the things he _wants—_ nor does he have any way to combat the strange worry they bring, the way it all feels familiar in the worst way. But at this point… he’s not sure if there’s anything he can do about it, no way to turn any of it _off._

He thinks it’s a little too late for that now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when this story had a plot? *stares off into the distance* good times


	14. when this is all over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: in depth mentions of pregnancy in the first section (Rose is 39 weeks and going through it ya'll)

“Are you sure you should be traveling?” 

Rose rolls her eyes as she settles further into Ben’s plush, over-sized couch. “It’s Long Island. Not Kentucky. I’ll be fine.”

Rey laughs a little as she sets Rose’s glass of water on the end table before she settles in the armchair across from the couch. “How are you feeling?”

“Like there’s a thirty-nine-week-old person kicking on my bladder every waking minute,” Rose grumbles. 

Rey grimaces. “And you weren’t dilated at your weekly?”

“ _Nope,”_ Rose says derisively, accentuating the _p_ with a little _pop._ “My doctor just laughed and said: _oh she must be really comfortable in there!”_ Rose gives a murderous expression. “I sort of wanted to throw a stirrup at him.”

“She’ll come when she’s ready,” Rey offers, trying for optimism. 

Rose rolls her eyes. “Sounds like you and my doctor have been having brunch.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” Rey says with sympathy. “That’s rough.”

Rose huffs as she kicks up her swollen ankles on Ben’s coffee table—something Rey doesn’t dare chide. 

“What about Finn?” Rey says, trying to change the topic. “Is he going to be able to take any time off when she gets here?”

“He’s put enough back so that he can afford to not work for a couple of weeks, so I doubt he’ll stay home longer than that as long as the delivery goes smoothly. You know how busy he’s been since the gallery opened.”

“And that’s still going good?”

“So far,” Rose says with a nod. “He’s sold several pieces.”

“That’s great,” Rey answers with relief. “I know how nervous he was.” She frowns. “It feels like I haven’t talked to you guys in weeks.”

“Probably because you haven’t,” Rose snorts. “But I’m sure you’ve been… busy.”

There’s a sly little smile at her mouth as she says this, and Rey just rolls her eyes. “Oh, come off it.”

“Mhm. Sure. Listen. Hallmark never lies.”

“I don’t think that logic is going to get you very far in life,” Rey laughs.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” She leans up to look towards the hall. “They sure are quiet in there. That’s always worrisome.”

Rey waves her off. “Ren is showing Jacen his LEGO. They’ll be busy for a while.”

Rose nods thoughtfully, then cocks an eyebrow. “So how _have_ you been here? Is it as cool of a gig as it sounded?”

“I…” She tries for nonchalance, shrugging a little. “It’s definitely a great job. I really love the house. Plus, Ren is like, possibly the perfect kid. Seriously every day he makes me laugh so hard. Yesterday when we were at dinner he told Ben this joke, you should have seen Ben’s face. I’ve never seen him laugh like that.” She catches herself babbling when she notices Rose watching her skeptically, clearing her throat before another barely-there shrug. “Anyway. Yeah. I love it. It’s been a lot of fun… and Ben is really nice. So.”

Rose narrows her eyes. “Rey.”

“What?”

“Are you…?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh my God. You little—”

Rey brings her finger to her lips in a violent shushing motion, peering back towards the hall. “ _Stop._ It’s not… advertised.”

“You have to give me something. I literally have nothing going for me but a small bladder and round ligament pain.”

“What is round ligament pain?”

“Imagine a charley horse.”

“Oh, okay, yeah—”

“In your vagina.”

Rey’s nose wrinkles. “Really selling the idea of having kids someday here.”

“You mean _with your hot boss?”_

Rey waves her hands frantically. “ _Shh.”_

“Give me something. Anything. How long before you cracked?”

“It’s only been… maybe a week or more.”

“And is it amazing? Does he smell like freshly-printed dollar bills and the Gap?”

Rey rolls her eyes. “He smells like Dior, if I’m being honest. It’s… nice.”

Rose clicks her tongue. “Finn smells like acrylic paint most days.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” she sighs. “Marriage changes you.” She rolls away from the couch suddenly with great effort, one hand on her rounded belly as she gives one last wary glance down the hall before she leans in. “But you have _got_ to tell me what he’s like.”

Rey’s brow furrows with confusion. “I told you he’s very nice.”

“Come _on,”_ Rose huffs with a roll of her eyes. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Rey feels heat creeping up her neck to color her cheeks with a blush. “Oh. Well.” She rubs at the back of her neck. “He’s… intense.”

“Oh my God. Is that code for spanking?”

“Jesus Christ, _shh.”_ Rey shakes her head. “No it isn’t, but…” Rey takes a deep breath only to blow it out slowly through her lips. “It’s definitely… intense.”

“Lucky bitch,” Rose tuts, settling back into the cushions. “I can’t even enjoy it right now. Everything is either swollen or leaking. Definitely doesn’t make you feel sexy.” She snorts. “Which is bullshit since my doctor keeps reminding me how much sex could _help speed things along.”_

“Bet Finn loves that,” Rey laughs.

“He might if every time didn’t end in me crying about how I look like a beached whale.”

“Shut up,” Rey chides. “You’re beautiful.”

Rose gives her a blank look as if challenging, but doesn’t argue, heaving out a sigh instead as she closes her eyes. “I knew this would end in Hallmark.” Her lips curl. “I’m going to put that in my matron of honor speech.”

She feels another blush at her cheeks. “Definitely too soon to be even _thinking_ about anything like that.”

“I mean, but have you talked about, you know… what you’ll do when this gig is over?”

Rey bites at her lip. “It’s barely been a _week._ Too soon. We don’t even know what this is.”

“Exactly. You only have a few weeks left of the job, right? Sort of something you need to talk about, probably. I mean, what are you going to do when this is all over?”

Rey looks down at her lap, not answering. She won’t pretend the thought doesn’t cross her mind at least once a day—but since Ben hasn’t brought up anything on the matter, she can’t seem to bring herself to bring it up either. 

“I don’t know,” Rey says finally. “We’ve still got some time to figure out—”

“Mom, mom!”

A thundering of footsteps bound into the living room then, bringing with them an excited seven and eight-year-old. Jacen is holding up a game case with obvious excitement in his eyes, Ren in tow.

“Mom, mom! Ren has the new Minecraft Dungeons game! Can we play?”

“You know we can’t stay much longer,” Rose tells him gently. “I have to go see that horrible woman who refuses to induce me.”

Jacen wrinkles his nose. “What does induce mean?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” she answers with a light scratch of her nails against his hair. “Maybe we can come back soon, and you can play.”

“Why don’t you let him stay the night?” Rey offers.

Ren’s face lights up. “Can he?”

Rose purses her lips. “Are you sure his dad won’t mind?”

“Dad won’t care!” Ren is bouncing on the balls of his feet now. “Will he, Rey?”

“I can text him to be sure,” Rey says, “but I’m sure he won’t.” 

She pulls out her phone to tap out a message.

_I know this is random, but my sister-in-law came to visit today and brought my godson, and Ren would like to know if he can stay the night?_

It takes only seconds for the dots to dance across the screen, preceding his answer.

**Of course that’s fine. I’m sure Ren would love that.**

_Probably means we have to keep our hands to ourselves tonight._

**That sounds decidedly less okay.**

_We can make it one night._

**Speak for yourself.**

She finds herself grinning stupidly when she looks back up, met with Rose’s smug look as she quickly tries to school her features, clearing her throat. 

“Your dad says it’s fine,” Rey tells Ren. “So as long as Rose is okay with it…”

“Please, Mom?” Jacen gives his mother a pleading expression. “Please? I’ll be good!”

“Oh, alright, alright.” Rose waves them off. “But I’ll be back for you in the morning. We have to go see your grandma tomorrow.”

Jacen makes a face. “Yeah, okay.”

Both of them run off towards Ren’s bedroom to leave Rose and Rey to themselves, and Rose cocks her eyebrow in Rey’s direction. “Don’t think I didn’t see that goofy grin. You’ve got it bad, girl.”

“Shut up,” Rey mutters. 

Rose’s grins cheekily. “I love being right.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

She tries not to think about the question that’s still nagging at her inside, one that has plagued her long before Rose had outright asked it.

_What are you going to do when this is all over?_

It’s something she’s definitely wondered herself, way more than once. She hates that she doesn’t have an answer to it, and what's worse, that she’s too afraid to _ask_ for one—but she tells herself there’s still time. That they’ll figure it out. 

Hopefully.

* * *

Rose is long gone hours later when there is another knock at the door, one that Rey doesn’t even have time to answer before Leia sweeps inside, as is her way.

“Oh, hey,” she greets. “Sorry I didn’t call. I was just nearby and thought I’d stop to see if Ren wanted to go with me to the mall.”

“Oh.” Rey gives her an apologetic look. “He’s actually got company. My godson is staying the night to play with him. I’m sorry.”

Leia waves off her apologies. “Don’t be sorry! Just an idea. I probably should have called.”

“Do you want to stay for a bit? I can make you some coffee.”

“That actually sounds lovely,” Leia tells her. “I’ve been running around all day like a chicken with its head cut off. These old bones are tired, girl.”

Rey laughs softly under her breath as she leads Leia into the kitchen, digging through the cabinets for two coffee cups as she hears Leia settling at the counter behind her. 

“So, busy day, you say?”

Leia huffs out a breath. “Oh, there was an issue with the computer system at the new store. Couldn’t put in any new orders. Then we didn’t get that delivery of peonies that we should have. Can you imagine? It’s wedding season! With no peonies! Absolute nightmare. I don’t know who thought it was a good idea to go into the flower business.”

“You did,” Rey laughs. 

Leia scoffs. “Never make a career decision when you’re going through a divorce, dear.”

Rey keeps quiet; Leia doesn’t talk about her divorce from Ben’s dad often—but when she does Rey gets the impression it’s a sore subject. 

“Did you get everything straightened out at least?”

“I think so. The computers were working when I left, and they’re rescheduling the delivery for Friday. So hopefully not a total shitshow.”

“That’s good, at least.”

“Mhm.” Rey turns from the espresso machine to find Leia resting her chin at her fist, looking like she could use a nap. “How are things around here?” 

“Oh, you know. Same old, same old.”

“And my son? Has he been coming home at a decent hour lately?”

Rey has to force her expression to remain passive, hoping that her cheeks don’t look as pink as they feel. ‘Oh. Yeah. A lot more often now.”

Leia looks relieved. “Good. It seems like this summer has been good for him. Both of them, really.”

“Yeah.” Rey nods thoughtfully. “Even I can tell a difference from when I first started.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. I worry, you know?”

“Sure. Of course.”

“Especially since Amilyn is coming back a little earlier than we thought,” Leia goes on. “I’m hoping this summer will jar my thickheaded son into making some changes.”

There’s an unsettled sensation in Rey’s belly. “Oh? She’s coming back earlier?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes. Sorry. I suppose Ben hasn’t gotten to mention that yet. I spoke with her the other day. They’ve set a date for closing, she tells me. Apparently she’ll be back home before August, as long as everything goes smoothly.”

“That’s… great,” Rey says, trying to sound sincere. “I’m sure Ren will be excited to see his mom.”

“I’m just hoping this summer will be an eye opener for Ben,” Leia sighs. “I keep telling him this arrangement of theirs is terrible. I just know Amilyn would be open to a change if Ben could stop thinking that this is all somehow _best_ for Ren.” She blinks then, looking apologetic. “Goodness. I’m sorry. I’m babbling. I told you, I’m tired.”

“That’s okay,” Rey answers quietly, biting at her lower lip. She knows it’s not her business to press, but… “How did they come into this… arrangement, by the way? Just out of curiosity.”

“Oh, you know how it goes,” Leia says flippantly. “Ben was so young when Amilyn got pregnant. I think he had stars in his eyes for Amilyn, and it sort of had him all sorts of twisted up in knots when she turned down his proposal… I don’t know. She knew he had no idea what to do with a baby, and Ben has always been of the mind that Amilyn knows best…”

Rey feels some tightness in her chest, one that she can hardly even begin to describe. Her mind is hung up on: _when she turned down his proposal_ —suddenly assaulted with all sorts of anxious thoughts that make no sense. Wondering all at once if there is something… still there. She can’t call it jealousy, she thinks, this thing inside her—but it’s unpleasant, whatever it is. 

“—I think the whole business of his dad and I splitting affected him more than he’d like to admit. I don’t know.”

Rey realizes then that she’d zoned out while Leia was speaking, and she gives a quick nod to try and make it not obvious. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I know it’s none of my business.”

“I don’t blame you for being curious,” Leia tells her. “Anyone would be.”

“Right,” Rey answers softly, still a little hung up in her own thoughts. “Just curious.”

“Where _is_ my grandson, by the way? I figure I’d better go say hi. I’ll have to head out soon.”

“He’s in his room. You go on. I’ll have a cup waiting on you when you get back.”

“That’s my girl,” Leia says with a smile, sliding off her stool. 

Rey watches her pad down the hall in search of Ren’s room—thoughts still sort of far away as they seem to cling to that same: _when she turned down his proposal_ , despite Rey’s best efforts to push it from her mind. It’s none of her business, really, she knows that; it doesn’t even really have any bearing on here and now and _them_ —but still her traitorous brain can’t seem to move away from it, wondering what it means, what it _still_ means. Wondering if there is something there to worry about, something that might put a future between her and Ben in some sort of jeopardy.

Realizing all at once just how much that possibility makes her anxious. 

* * *

She’s still stressing over it hours later, unfortunately—through dinner and the movie that they’d agreed to watch with the boys who are now zonked out on the couch between her and Ben. His quiet laugh draws her out of her own head at some point, and she peeks over at him to find him smiling down at a drooling Ren who is half-curled in his lap, his legs sprawled out over Jacen’s sleeping figure.

“Well. They’re out,” he murmurs.

Rey’s eyes flick down to Jacen’s open mouth. “Yeah. They played pretty hard this afternoon.”

“I’m glad Ren had fun. I’m sure it was good for him.”

Rey watches him card his fingers through Ren’s hair—smiling bemusedly down at his son with obvious adoration. It brings to mind everything that Leia has said earlier, and she can see why Ben’s mother would dwell on such a thing so much—her son not spending more time with his own son. Especially when he would, she thinks at least, so obviously like to.

She keeps quiet as they both carry the boys to Ren’s room, tucking them in quietly as they snore through it all, unaware. It isn’t until they’re in the hall, Ben closing the door behind them, that she finds she can’t keep quiet anymore.

“Your mom came by today,” she says suddenly. 

Ben’s eyebrows raise slightly. “Did she?”

“Mhm. She mentioned Ren’s mom was coming back a little earlier.”

“Oh.” He looks a little sheepish then. “Yes. I spoke with her the other day. I meant to mention it. Before August, she thinks.”

“I’m sure Ren will be excited,” Rey comments, crossing her arms.

Ben looks contemplative. “I’m sure he will.”

She chews at the inside of her lip for several moments, wrestling with the words on the tip of her tongue. Ones that she can’t seem to contain, in the end.

“Do you think you’ll just go back to the way things were before?”

He looks up with genuine surprise in his features. “What?”

“I’m sorry. Your mom mentioned… that your normal arrangement didn’t seem very good.”

His lips purse. “I’m sure she did.”

She hates the way the words feel like vomit in her throat, unable to hold them back. “She mentioned when Amilyn got pregnant, you—”

“I don’t want to talk about this with you,” he says suddenly, sharply, almost like a slap with the way it makes Rey reel. He looks immediately regretful of his tone, to his credit. “I’m sorry. _Fuck._ I didn’t mean to sound so angry. It’s just… it has nothing to do with us.”

Rey looks down at the floor, something sinking in her belly. “Oh.”

“Shit.” He grabs for her arms then, forcing her to look up at him. “I didn’t mean—” He takes a flustered inhale, blowing it out through his mouth. “I just don’t want you to worry about it. There’s _nothing_ there anymore. Okay?”

She nods slowly, hearing sincerity in his tone. “Okay.”

“I didn’t mean to snap at you. I _have_ been thinking about my… arrangement with Ren. Trust me.”

“That’s good.”

“And about us, too,” he tells her quietly. 

She bites at her lip, peeking up at him through her lashes. “You have?”

“Of _course_ I have,” he assures her. 

It feels like a knot begins to unwind inside. “So have I.”

“We’ve got time to figure all this out, Rey,” he says with confidence. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

She nods, taking a deep breath. “Right. Of course. I’m sorry.”

He pulls her close then, one large hand cupping at her nape so that her face turns up, his lips brushing against hers in a soft kiss that makes her skin warm and all her anxiety from the day begin to ebb slightly.

“I told you I wasn’t done with you,” he murmurs against her mouth after. “I meant that.”

She nods softly, feeling her lips curl in a smile. “Good.”

“You know.” His hands slide over her hips to squeeze there. “I know you said we’d be good, but… they _are_ fast asleep.”

Her grin hitches a little wider. “Can’t even behave for one night?”

“With you?” There’s a soft laugh followed by another slow, toe-curling kiss. “Not even a little,” he breathes.

She lets him carry her down the hall to his bedroom without a fuss, because honestly, she’s just as needy as he is. She tries not to give anymore thought to what she learned today, what it might mean for them—telling herself that he’s right, that they _do_ have time to figure this all out, that he isn’t done with her, just like he said.

Trying not to dwell on the fact of just how devastated she’s realizing she would be if he ever decides he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh I surprised myself that there was no porn when i came back to find this chapter and post like damn bitch you remember how to write plot wow


	15. put it on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya'll thought i forgot about that jacket huh
> 
> check new tags there is butt stuff that i almost took out but then thought meh lets put the ass in gratuit-ass (shh i know)  
> 
> 
> Amazing gif board by [AlannahWrites](https://twitter.com/AlannahWrites) on Twitter! 😍

“Careful,” Ben warns Ren, stretching out his legs in front of him under the little metal table outside the ice cream parlor. “You’ll spill.”

“Whoops.” Ren looks sheepish as he licks away a stray line that’s melting down the cone, leaning on his elbows as he grins back at Ben from the other side of the table. “You didn’t want ice cream?”

Ben shakes his head, tilting his smoothie back and forth. “I’m fine with this.”

“That’s boring,” Ren points out.

“Probably.” Ben chuckles before taking another draw from his straw. “Did you like the museum?”

He bobs his head excitedly. “Yeah! I thought museums were boring, but that one was pretty fun.”

“What was your favorite part?”

“The astronauts!” His little face splits into a toothy grin. “I liked the spaceship.” He takes another lick from his cone before he wrinkles his nose. “Dad, do you think I could I be an astronaut?”

“I think you could be whatever you wanted to be, little man,” Ben tells him.

“How do you be an astronaut?”

Ben considers. “Well. You have to go to college first. Get the right degree… I’m sure you’ll need some real world experience after that.”

“Real world experience?”

“I’m not too sure about it, but I know a lot of pilots go on to be astronauts. Scientists, too.”

“What do scientists do?”

“They study things,” Ben informs. 

“What kinds of things?”

“All kinds of things. Rocks, trees, water, bacteria…”

“And space?”

Ben’s lips curl. “And space.”

“That sounds fun,” Ren comments with a thoughtful nod. “Is it hard to be a lawyer like you?”

“It just takes a little longer schooling.”

“But you make bad guys go to jail?”

“Sometimes,” Ben tells him. “It’s not always so cut and dry.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means sometimes I just go to court to win a case. Not necessarily to put someone in jail.”

“Oh.” Ren seems to consider this as he takes another lick from his cone. “But you have to work all the time, huh.”

Ben frowns, his brow knitting as guilt surges through him. “I do.”

“Do you like working?”

“I… I do,” he says truthfully. “But lately I wish I could just hang out with you all day.”

Ren’s expression brightens. “We have a lot more fun at home, I bet.”

“I bet you do too.”

“Rey is  _ so  _ much fun,” Ren says matter of factly. “I wish she could have came today.”

“She went to see her friend Rose in the hospital,” Ben reminds him.

“To see a baby?”

“Mhm. Rose had her baby.”

“How did it even get in her stomach to begin with? That seems weird. Did someone put it there?”

Ben averts his eyes as his lips press together, clearing his throat. “We’ll talk about it when you’re older.”

His entire afternoon has been a similar barrage of nonstop questions—Ren never coming up short on topics that he’d like to discuss. Ben can’t find it himself to mind it, really, to be honest, he’s enjoyed every second of their afternoon together. He thinks to himself that he wishes  _ every  _ day could be like this one.

He notices after a moment that Ren has gone uncharacteristically quiet—licking at his cone still but picking at a stray piece of paint at the metal table idly. Ben leans over the table’s surface to ruffle his son’s hair, giving him an encouraging look.

“Something on your mind?”

Ren shrugs. “I don’t know. I just wish we could do stuff like this more.”

“Hey.” Ben frowns. “We can. Promise.”

“But when mom comes back, things will be like they were before,” Ren says dejectedly. “And then I won’t see you much.”

Ben runs his fingers through his hair as he leans back against the chair, taking a deep breath. “Maybe it won't be like before.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe we could make it so you could come see me more often, what do you think?”

Ren perks up considerably. “Really?”

“I’ll have to talk to your mother,” Ben tells him truthfully, “but if you want to—”

“I do!” The excitement on Ren’s face is nearly enough to send Ben soaring—cursing himself mentally for not considering a change sooner. “Mom won’t care, will she?”

Ben purses his lips. “I’ll talk to her about it.”

“But what about work? Will Rey still be home with us?”

“I—” Ben swallows thickly. “Rey is only supposed to stay with us during the summer. She’ll have to go back to school after that.”

Ren’s face falls. “I don’t want her to go.”

“You like her that much, huh?”

“I love Rey!” Ren huffs out a breath, taking a more-aggressive lick from his cone. “She should just live at your house. Then I could see her all the time.”

Ben’s mouth parts in surprise. “Ren… it doesn’t really work like that.”

“My friend Jack’s teacher moved in with  _ his  _ dad!”

“What?”

“Oh!” Ren looks visibly excited. “You could just marry her!”

Ben thinks he can nearly hear his jaw hitting the floor. “What?”

“That’s what Jack’s dad did! He married Jack’s teacher. Now they all live together! You could marry Rey, couldn’t you, Dad?”

“Ren, I don’t think—”

“Don’t you like Rey?”

“Well,  _ yes,  _ I like Rey, but I don’t think—”

“She’s really pretty though! And she cooks good. And sometimes she even lets me win at Mario Kart… you should just marry her.”

There’s a determined expression on Ren’s face now, and Ben can see in his features that he won’t be backing down from this issue without a fight. Ben can only stare back at him, momentarily at a loss for words. 

“Ren,” he starts carefully. “I think maybe we shelve this idea for now, okay?”

“Shelve?”

“Yes. It means we talk about it later. Okay?”

Ren looks disgruntled, pouting, even. “It’s a good idea.”

“I’m not arguing that,” Ben says, surprising even himself. “But you can’t just marry people you just met.”

“You didn’t just meet Rey. She’s been here forever!”

Ben sighs, realizing this is a fight he won’t be winning, so he decides to switch tactics. “I’ll tell you what, I have a work thing this Saturday, but why don’t we take Rey somewhere next week? Just the three of us. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Ren’s eyes go wide with excitement. “Really? Where?”

“Anywhere you want,” Ben promises. “You pick.”

“And Rey can come too?”

“Yes, Rey can come too.”

“And then you can marry her.”

Ben closes just eyes, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Okay, I have  _ one condition  _ about going somewhere.”

“What?”

“You don’t mention anyone marrying  _ anybody  _ in front of Rey.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Ben doesn’t say: because the idea holds more appeal than it should for rationale’s sake, he refuses _.  _ “Because you might make her uncomfortable.”

“Oh.” Ren looks down at his knees, mulling it over. “Okay. I won’t say anything.”

“Good. You look around and decide where you want to go, and you let me know, okay?”

A toothy grin that makes the knot from the  _ marriage  _ discussion unwind. “Okay.”

He blessedly drops the conversation after that—launching into some recollection of one of the exhibits at the science museum that day. Ben lets him chatter on freely, trying not to let his mind continue to dip back down into the ludicrous notion of even  _ entertaining  _ an idea of something so permanent with someone he’s been seeing for barely two weeks. 

Because it is. Ludicrous.

He takes another long sip from his smoothie.

Yeah. Ludicrous.

* * *

He’s managed to push it  _ mostly  _ from his mind later on in the evening—successfully getting through dinner without Ren demanding wedding bells as Rey offered an entire album’s worth of photos of her new goddaughter. Ben caught himself smiling softly at each one; he hasn’t seen a newborn since Ren, and even as an infant, the boy had never seemed that tiny. 

He tucks Ren into bed that night with a promise of fulfilling whatever whim he comes up with in regards to their outing with Rey—Ren so clearly excited about the prospect that Ben finds himself a little excited as well. Ren mourns that he didn't mention it to Rey before she went off to shower, but Ben promises to tell her before he goes to bed, and assures the little boy that Rey will surely want to help pick their adventure. 

Rey is still shut away in her bathroom by the time Ren’s bedroom light is off and his door is closed—and Ben takes advantage of the time to go straighten some things out in his own bedroom before he inevitably tumbles into bed with a pretty nanny, his or hers, he has no preference at this point. 

He finds himself standing in his closet after his own shower a short time later; He tries to make a habit of laying out his clothes for the next day just to save himself some time in the morning—so it’s nothing new, picking through the various shades of blue, black or grey in search of something appropriate for court. His mother likes to say he  _ lives  _ to push the boundaries of fashion, and Ben likes to ignore most of what his mother says. So.

He picks a blue suit that he’d decided against only a week or so before—pulling the hanger from the rack with the intent to lay it out over the chair in the corner of his room while he decides on shoes. He’s smoothing it over the back of the chair when something catches his eye, something that makes his brow furrow and his lips purse as he lets his fingers trail down one of the sleeves to bring the end up closer for inspection.

He rubs his thumb across a stiffer section of fabric at the opening of the sleeve—an obvious white…  _ something _ staining it there, almost like salt water that’s dried. He can’t for the life of him decide what it might be; he hasn’t taken out this suit since he last considered it, and even then it just spent a day on his bed before he came home and decided against it. It’s not like there was anything that might have gotten it—

He frowns, thinking. 

There’s something… oddly familiar about it. Something that gives him pause. He thinks to himself that it’s ridiculous to consider, because surely it can’t be—It  _ can’t _ be what he’s considering, because that would just be…

He brings the sleeve of his jacket up to his face—just under his nose as he takes a deep inhale from it. His mouth parts as he does it again, recognizing the faded scent of something he’s become very intimate with recently. He feels like some sort of deviant when he unsheathes his tongue to press it there after, but even still his cock twitches  _ hard _ in his pants because he fucking  _ knows _ what happened here. He doesn’t know how he knows, and he has nothing to back it up—but he fucking  _ knows.  _ He pulls the sleeve away to stare at it wildly, letting that knowledge sink in. 

Now he just has to decide what to do about it. 

He takes a good minute just staring at the sullied jacket, his teeth grinding together as he considers his options. He’s distracted by the image of  _ her _ in his space; he’s trying to decide when she was here—was it before the beach house, or after? 

He’s not sure which possibility is more enticing.

He plucks the jacket from his chair only to carry it over to his bed, laying it out purposefully at the end of his comforter in a way that makes it a focal point—setting a stage. He checks his watch to note the time; Ren went to bed nearly an hour ago now and will surely be well past fast asleep by now. With that in mind he makes his way out of his bedroom door to step down the hall, the light of the living room lamp casting a soft glow at the mouth where he knows Rey still is. 

She’s sitting in his red leather armchair when he steps out of the hall, her hair still damp from her shower and her lips pressed quietly together in thought. For a moment she doesn’t notice him standing there, her eyes trained on her laptop screen as she taps away at the keyboard, and there’s some excited energy humming along his skin as he watches her quietly—images of her pretty little body in his bed,  _ using _ his things instead of taking what she needed from  _ him _ . 

It gives him wicked thoughts, thinking of her wanting him that much. 

“Rey,” he murmurs quietly, only loud enough that she catches it from where she’s sitting.

She peeks up at him with a questioning look, brows raised and fingers still resting against the keys of her laptop. “Hm?”

“Can you come here for a second?”

Her brow furrows. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says evenly. “I just want to show you something.”

Her lips purse as if she’s still a little confused, but she closes the lid of her laptop dutifully and immediately rises from the chair to pad in his direction. She follows him down the hall all the way to the door of his bedroom, and he pushes it open to gesture that she enter only to follow in after. He locks it when he closes it after them, and he can see in her expression that he has something… lascivious in mind, her lips curling to take a step towards him, but he surprises her, he thinks, when he shakes his head.

He nods towards his bed instead, and she follows the line of his sight to find his suit jacket sitting there. “Rey,” he says evenly, keeping his voice controlled. “Do you know why I asked you to come in here?”

She still looks a little puzzled, and for whatever reason it only makes it all the more exciting for him, that she still hasn’t picked up on what’s happening here. “No?”

“I was in here picking out my suit for court tomorrow—nothing overly exciting, mind you—but then I noticed something… off. About this particular suit. Can you guess what that might be?”

“No?” She presses her lips together briefly, peeking back over at it. “I don’t know what could be—”

He sees the moment it clicks. The moment everything he’s suspected is completely  _ confirmed _ by the expression on her face. 

“You know,” he murmurs. “Don’t you.”

She looks equal parts shocked and embarrassed then. “Ben. Oh my God. I can explain. I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to what, Rey?” He’s careful to keep his place at the door, leaning against it quietly with his arms folded across his chest. “Come all over my twelve-hundred dollar suit?”

She looks mortified. “Oh my God. I’m  _ so _ sorry. It’s just that I—”

“Did you do this before the beach house? Or after?”

And maybe she notices then—how he is the  _ furthest _ thing from angry. How he’s practically  _ vibrating _ with arousal at the idea of her touching herself.  _ Here. _ In his  _ room.  _ Her eyes widen just a little, and her mouth forms a quiet little  _ o _ —and he can see it now. The way she’s picking up on what’s happening.

Her throat bobs with a swallow. “Before.”

“So you snuck into my bedroom and touched yourself?”

A slow nod. “Yes.”

“Where?”

Her eyes flick to his bed. “There.”

“And what did you do, Rey? Did you stretch out on my jacket and touch yourself?”

A slow shake of her head. “I put it on.”

“Did you.”

“I did.”

He considers this for a moment—the mental image enough to have his cock pressing uncomfortably against his zipper. He uncrosses his arms after a time, not saying a word as he steps across the room to settle down in the armchair in the corner. He makes a show of shifting to get comfortable—sprawling his legs out in front of him and lacing his fingers to let his hands rest over his stomach. 

“Put it on.” He holds her gaze pointedly. “I want you to wear it again.”

She looks from him to the jacket—fingers reaching out slowly as if to pick it up.

“I want you to wear  _ only _ the jacket, Rey,” he clarifies.

Her mouth parts in surprise, fingers clenching and unclenching as she squirms a little under the weight of his gaze. But then there’s a determination in her eyes, a warmth there that says she’s just as excited as he is, just as  _ eager _ . She reaches for the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it over her head in one fell swoop to drop it on the floor. It takes all he has not to react to her pretty pink nipples that beg for his mouth underneath—his fingers clenching a little tighter as she moves on to her sweats to begin to roll them down. 

She never looks away from him as she strips down to nothing; his brave girl looks him right in the eye when she’s naked and flushed only a few feet away—almost like she’s daring him to give up his game and just come fuck her into his mattress in a way that’s becoming standard for them. 

And he’ll get to that. 

After. 

When it’s clear he isn’t going to budge—she reaches for his suit jacket, making a show of lifting it up high, holding his gaze as the too-large garment slides down over her arms and she shrugs into it. It swallows her completely; the hem hits her mid-thigh, the sleeves fall well over her hands—and the parted fabric  _ just _ covers her breasts on either side even though the entire thing leaves her cunt bare to his sight. 

She stands there unabashedly as she does a little half twirl, cocking an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Get on the bed,” he tells her thickly, his skin starting to feel too hot. “Want you to touch yourself the way you did before.”

“I was on the phone with you before,” she admits sheepishly.

“Excuse me?”

“Before,” she squeaks. “You called while I was—I just—Your voice really…  _ does _ things to me, and I—”

He’s grinding his teeth now. “Get. On the bed.”

He can see the way she shivers, climbing up onto his mattress to push up on her knees. “Like this?”

“Just like that,” he rasps. “Spread your legs. Want to see.”

She widens the stance of her knees until he can see the lips of her cunt spread, can see the way the neat curls there are already wet with her arousal—and it takes everything he has to stay seated, to not cross this room and just  _ have  _ her. 

“Show me,” he urges quietly. “Show me how you touched yourself, Rey.”

She bites at her lower lip as the tips of her fingers peek out from the end of his sleeves—trailing over her belly and between her legs as the brush against the little nub of her clit there. Her lashes flutter as she rolls her fingers against it, her thighs tensing and her belly contracting as she starts a rhythm of slow circles.

“You thought of me?” His eyes are fixed on her fingers that work her clit. “When you did this?”

She nods with effort. “ _ Yes.  _ I wanted it to be you touching me.”

“Yeah?” He can hear the way his voice is growing hoarser,  _ thicker _ —his breath coming a little shallower now. “Wanted my fingers in that little cunt?”

“ _ Yes,”  _ she breathes, curling her fingers then until they slip inside her. 

“Yours aren’t quite thick enough,” he notes roughly. “You can’t quite reach the way I can. Can you.”

A slow shake of her head even as her fingers start to pump in and out of her.

It’s almost torture to watch. 

“You say you like my voice, Rey?”

Another airy nod. “Mhm.” 

He can’t help it; he has to reach to palm himself through his jeans just to keep things under control. “Do you like it when I tell you what to do?”

“ _ Yes.” _

“And what if I told you to turn around and get down on your stomach with that perfect ass up in the air? What if I told you I wanted you to make yourself come in my suit jacket like that while I watch? 

Her mouth parts, and her eyes widen a fraction, her hand stilling between her legs. “What?”

“You heard me.”

He’s testing her, and he knows it—but there’s something about Rey that gives him a thrill when she relinquishes up control, when she  _ trusts  _ him to take care of her, to give her what she needs. 

“Can you do that for me, Rey? Or is it too much?”

Her teeth worry at her lip, and she glances back at the bed as if considering, and for a moment he wonders if he’s pushed her too far—but then her knees blessedly shift. Her eyes flick to his with something like anticipation, and this girl, his  _ good girl— _ she turns to sidle up the mattress, slowly lowering the front half of her body down and down until her face touches the mattress, her knees propped up to leave her ass high in the air. 

His jacket covers a good bit, but he can  _ just  _ see the wet lips of her cunt peeking back at him from between her thighs. Her fingers appear there, sliding through her folds to spread them a little—and Ben has never seen anything, never  _ experienced  _ anything as arousing as what he is right now. 

His cock is so hard now that it’s painful, and his breathing is ragged and loud in the quiet space of his bedroom, a clear sign of how affected he is. 

“Look at you,” he breathes, watching the way her fingers dip inside to tease her slick little hole. “Do you know how much I’d like to fuck you right now?”

“You could,” she sighs, pushing her fingers a little deeper, deep enough so that he  _ knows  _ she’s getting the sleeve of his jacket wet. “If you’d come over here.”

“Oh, I’m going to,” he tells her pointedly, watching the way her fingers pump in and out. “But I want you to make yourself come first.”

Her fingers slip out so that she can tease them over her clit, slicking herself in her fluids as hole twitches with every swipe. He can see the way she’s moving her hand quicker than before—and he can’t help the way his lips twitch with the ghost of a smile.

“Are you that eager to come, Rey?”

Her voice is breathy and soft when she answers, “If it means you’ll touch me.”

“Do you want me to that badly?” He gives his cock a squeeze through the denim of his fly. “You want my hands that much?”

“ _ Ah _ — _ yes.” _

“Maybe I could help you,” he murmurs. “Just a little.”

“ _ Please,”  _ she whimpers, still circling the pads of her fingers at her clit.

It’s not really a hard decision, removing himself from the chair and closing the distance between them; she makes some sigh of relief at the way he gives in, and her body trembles a little when he dips a knee on the bed, when he curls his body to wrap his hands around either side of her thighs to push the hem of the jacket up and out of the way. 

His lips press softly against one rounded cheek first, his tongue flicking there to trace a pretty cluster of freckles—and he hears her breath catch when he repeats the process on the other side, teasing her without actually giving her what she needs. 

He can tell she’s not moving now, that she's ceased her efforts in hope that he’ll take over and do it for her—and Ben isn’t having it.

“I didn’t say stop, sweetheart,” he rasps against the soft curve of her ass. “Keep going.”

She makes a soft sound even as her arm begins to move subtly again, her fingers likely resuming that same hurried pace at her clit in an attempt to get there faster. 

“Go slow,” he instructs quietly, giving one cheek a soft bite. “There's no rush.”

The noise she makes is a frustrated one, but the movement of her arm becomes less frantic, more steady. 

“That’s my good girl,” he groans, his lips moving over her skin. “Just like that.”

His fingertips ghost along the inside of her thigh in a slow ascent, feeling the skin there quiver under his touch as he glides them higher, high enough so that he can tease the tip of one between her wet folds. He circles her entrance with a heavy press of his finger, hooking it  _ just  _ inside to stroke at her inner wall before he straightens it to push deeper. 

She rewards him with a soft cry and a hard clench of her cunt—and Ben feels his cock throb against his jeans in answer. He kisses a path over her ass until he can flick his tongue just above his finger, easing his tongue inside her as well as a muffled yelp sounds against his comforter. 

She tastes fresh and faintly of some scented body wash he can’t pin down—and he starts to pump his finger in and out of her as he surprises her with one broad lick from hole to hole that has her shrinking away. He holds her still with one hand clasped at her hip, doing it all over again as she whimpers with it.

“Maybe I’ll have this too,” he huffs as he gives her another flat stroke of his tongue up the length of her. He feels her clamp down around his finger, and he grins against her skin as he withdraws it only to trail the slick digit between her cheeks. “Has anyone ever had you here?” He circles the tip of his finger around the tight rim of muscle. “Have you ever let anyone fuck this perfect ass of yours?”

“N-no,” she chokes out, shifting her hips now as she continues to touch herself. “No one.”

He applies a light pressure against the furled opening— _ slowly  _ easing the tip of his finger inside. “You have  _ no _ idea what that does to me,” he grinds out, enjoying her quiet gasp as he slides the tip of his finger in and out of her. “Is this okay?”

She nods shakily against his mattress. “That feels—“

“I told you there wasn’t any part of you I didn’t want to fuck, didn’t I?”

“Ben,” she whines, her hand moving faster now—but he doesn’t stop her. “I’m—”

“You can come,” he tells her, reaching with one hand to tear open the button of his jeans even as he continues to tease that tight rim of muscle that no one’s ever used. “You’ve been such a good girl,” he coos as her body starts to rock against her hand unconsciously. “Good girls get to come on a cock.”

It’s harder to get himself free with one hand, but after a moment the cool air of his bedroom kisses at his heated cock—and he fists it tight as he rubs the flushed head up and down her slit as he waits for her to get there. Her breath comes shorter and shorter with every swipe of her fingers, her slick little hole clenching even as he nudges against it without actually slipping inside.

“Oh. _ Oh. Ben.”  _

His name is a drawn-out whine as she groans into his mattress—her body shaking as she starts to come apart, and Ben wastes no time in easing inside the trembling warmth of her cunt, feeling the way she comes around him, fisting him tight.

He’s too hot now, too needy—just as much as he  _ always  _ seems to be when he touches her, and he situates himself behind her so he can drive deep, bottoming out inside only for a moment before he immediately starts to withdraw. He’s still teasing higher to let his finger push inside a little deeper, her body opening up a little to take him all the way to the knuckle. He thinks maybe soon he  _ will  _ have her here—thinks that he  _ absolutely  _ wants to claim this part of her no one’s ever been—but right now all he can think about is driving inside her, burying himself in the slick heat of her again and again and  _ again. _

She’s still half coming even as his hips slap against hers, his hand at her hip sliding up to fist his jacket only so he can hold it out of the way as he fucks her tiny little body deeper into his mattress. Her fingers grip at his sheets and her hips push back against him—soft sounds of pleasure muffled into his bed that he wishes she didn’t have to stifle; fuck, he wishes she could fucking  _ scream  _ if she wanted.

He tugs on the jacket until her back arches, until her quiet gasp sounds in the air to blend with slap of skin between them—and he knows he won’t last long; already he can feel that hot pressure licking up his spine and low in his belly and he grits his teeth as he watches the way he disappears inside her over and over. Everything is soft and wet and warm inside, made slicker by her orgasm, and even now he can feel the way her inner walls contract around him in the aftermath of it, only bringing him that much  _ closer.  _

His breath leaves him in a stuttered rush as his lungs burn and his stomach clenches, his mouth parted and slack as he struggles to take in more air, feeling almost like he’s losing his goddamn  _ mind  _ with how good she feels. 

“Can you”—he curses under his breath when she cinches around him, nearly coming on the spot—“come again? Like this?” Her breath catches when he slips his finger out of her just to wrap his hands around her hips, pulling her back on his cock. “Can you give me one more?”

She manages a shaky nod and a breathy:  _ harder _ —and he grinds his teeth together as he tightens his fingers at her hips, his thighs burning with effort as he drives into her at a pace that is already hard to maintain with the way he needs to come. He can feel the way his cock swells with a need for release, feel the way even now she’s getting impossibly tighter,  _ wetter _ —and he thinks he can’t hold back any longer, his body curling as one hand slams against the mattress beside her.

And he makes it only until he feels her coming all over again, letting go the second he feels that decadent spasming inside that tells him he’s free to let go. He comes with a sharp grunt, holding himself up where he’s braced against his mattress as he lets his other hand slide under her belly until he can cup between her legs. He can feel the way she still trembles here as he empties inside her—chest heaving and eyes shut as they both try to come down from it all. 

He can feel the way his cum dribbles out of her when he finally pulls out, and he rubs his fingers through the mess with his clean hand lazily for a moment before he finally pulls away to try and help her roll over. She looks so much smaller like this—drowning in his too-large suit jacket, a pretty flush creeping over her chest and up her throat to color her cheeks and a dazed sort of smile at her mouth. 

“I think maybe you wear this better than I do,” he says with a hoarse sort of laugh.

_ She’d look better in white,  _ comes an errant thought unbidden. 

_ Ludicrous,  _ a more sensible voice chides. 

She stretches her arms high over her head, her stomach tensing with the movement. “This was definitely counterproductive on the whole making a mess of it thing though.” She bites at her lip then. “You’re not mad? It’s sort of creepy that I did that, right?”

“Rey,” he chuckles, crawling over her a little more as he uses the hem of his jacket to wipe his fingers clean. At this point it’s going to be a problem for the cleaners anyway. “Do you honestly think I never touched myself thinking about you before the beach house?”

“Really?”

“It’s embarrassing, how much.”

She bites at her bottom lip. “Wow, what a pervert.”

“Hysterical,” he deadpans.

He situates himself on his side so he can pull her into his chest, nuzzling his nose against her hairline as he breathes in the scent of her shampoo. He likes the way she instinctively cuddles closer, likes even more the way she fits against him, almost like she was made to.

“I never asked if you had fun with Ren earlier,” she comments idly after a short while.

“I did,” he tells her, thoughts of:  _ you should just marry her  _ cropping up unbidden. “Never a dull moment with that one.”

“You’re telling me,” she chuckles. “Hard not to love him though.”

It makes his chest feel strangely tight, Rey expressing her affection for Ren—sets off some strange tension that is overwhelming and yet not unpleasant. Maybe it is just Ren’s impossible assertion of matrimony that has him second guessing. Maybe it’s just the way he can’t seem to stop thinking about it. Who can say. 

“He asked about you,” Ben tells her softly, trying to brush those thoughts away.

“He did?

“Mhm. He wished you could come.”

“Little softie,” she says with a smile in her voice. “I thought you two could use some father/son time. Plus, baby snuggles.”

“I appreciate it,” he answers quietly, and then after a beat: “I told him next week we could do something together.”

She pushes away to look at him. “Together?”

“The three of us,” he clarifies, keeping his gaze on hers.

“Oh.” Her lips part in something like surprise, blinking back at him. “Is that… okay?”

“It’s okay if we say it’s okay,” he says. 

“I think it’s... okay,” she tells him. 

He reaches to brush a stray tendril of hair from her cheek. “I think it’s okay too.”

Her lips curl sweetly. “What are we going to do?”

“I told Ren he could pick whatever he wanted.”

She barks out a laugh then. “Oh, Ben. You fucked up.”

“What?”

“You gave an eight-year-old free reign on activity planning.”

“And?”

“Do you know what sort of things eight-year-olds like to do?”

Ben furrows his brow. “I… Yes? No? I don’t know.”

She pushes up a bit until she can brush her lips against his. “Such a pretty dummy.”

“You’ll regret that,” he huffs. 

He feels her smile widen against his mouth. “I mean the jacket is already dirty…”

Ben thinks he can’t argue with that logic.

The cleaning bill will be well worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will probably still be reynal because i am disgusting but ill give you a warning and at that point there will be plugs and tie-bondage so hell yall might have shunned me by then anyway


	16. yes, sir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no thoughts head empty

She’s nervous. 

It’s not something she’s ever done before, surprising a… boyfriend? Lover? Extremely hot live-in boss she just so happens to be fucking? 

Regardless.

She’s never surprised someone like this at _work_ —and sure, when the idea had occurred to her after dropping Ren off at Leia’s store so they could have lunch together, Rey had thought it was a brilliant one. Surely Ben wouldn’t feel _put out_ by it, considering her intentions—but by the time she’d been shut away in the elevator of his office building, surrounded by men and women in sleek, put-together outfits while she huddled in a corner in her jean shorts and her flip-flops… she’d definitely begun to lose her nerve a little.

She tells herself to stop being so anxious; it’s not like Ben has given her any indication that he would _ever_ say _no_ to more of… well… _her._ But still. 

The elevator opens up to the shiny black tile and the rich mahogany of the waiting area of Ben’s floor. She fiddles with the hem of her shirt as she paces through it quickly, coming to a halt at the wide desk in front of Ben’s door that is home to one very surly, very ginger assistant. 

Armitage looks up with a pinched expression as his hands still at the keyboard in front of him, and Rey can tell from his expression that despite this being her fourth visit to Ben’s office—he has no idea who she is.

“Hi,” she greets warmly. “I’m here to see Ben?”

His lips purse. “Did you have an appointment?”

“Oh, no, but I—”

“You’ll need an appointment to see Mr. Solo. I can make you one if you like, but he doesn’t have any openings until next month, mind you.”

“No, I don’t need an appointment, I’m—”

“Ma’am, everyone needs an appointment to see Mr. Solo.”

Rey frowns. Guy really takes his job seriously. “Listen, can you just tell him Rey is here? I’m sure he’ll see me.”

Armitage’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, eyes flicking across her worn, tie-dye tank top and only making her feel more out of place. It isn’t like she can wear that damned pencil skirt _every time_ she goes out.

After a moment he lets out a sigh, not bothering to reply as he turns to his office phone to punch in an extension. He holds the receiver to his ear for only a second before Ben presumably answers, Armitage’s tone holding only a hint of impatience.

“Yes, sir,” Armitage responds to whatever Ben greets him with. “I know you said not to bother you, but—”

A moment of silence as Armitage listens.

“I’m aware of that,” Armitage says tightly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, it’s just that you—”

More silence.

Oh, Jesus. She’s going to get the poor guy fired. She wonders if this was worth the trouble. Apparently work Ben is not nearly as lax as home Ben. She turns away from the desk suddenly, leaving Armitage sputtering in the phone as she presses on towards Ben’s office door.

“Wait,” Armitage calls after her. “You can’t—!”

She pushes open Ben’s door before he can stop her, finding Ben looking up from his desk with his phone still in hand—first with irritation and then pure surprise. He’s distracting in a light blue button down with the sleeves rolled to the elbow, her eyes moving from this to his darker blue tie clipped to the front. 

“Rey?”

She gives him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, just me.”

He promptly hangs up on Armitage, watching as she quickly closes the door behind her and turns the lock just as fast. She crosses the space between them to reach Ben’s still-half stunned figure seated in his office chair—perching herself at the corner of his desk and cocking her head. “Bad time?”

He surprises her by wrapping his hands around her wrists to tug her forward, catching her hips as he turns his chair to pull her into his lap, immediately cupping her jaw in his palms to pull her mouth to his. 

She’s surprised for only a moment before she melts into it with her arms looping around his neck, melting into his impromptu greeting before he finally breaks away from her.

She grins against his mouth. “Hello to you too.”

“Bad morning,” he mutters. “Not sure why you’re here, but it’s definitely been the best part of my day.”

Her heart gives a lurch in her chest, butterflies dancing around in her stomach. 

“I was just in the neighborhood,” she says casually, shrugging one shoulder. “Dropped Ren off for lunch with your mom… thought I’d stop by and say hi.”

He turns his face until he can press his lips to her temple. “You don’t ever need a reason to drop by.”

Her stomach flips then with nerves, wondering if it will seem silly—her coming here for…

“What are you working on?” She keeps her tone casual as she glances down at the papers strewn across his desk. “Anything fun?”

He frowns, shrugging absently. “Endless depositions.”

“That sounds like oodles of fun.”

“So much,” he deadpans.

“The woes of a hotshot lawyer,” she teases with a click of her tongue. “Never getting to have any fun.”

He huffs out a laugh from his nostrils, his hand curling further around her hip until he can palm her ass through her shorts. “I have fun sometimes.”

She bites at her lip, her heart beginning to hammer in her chest as she tries to work up the nerve to see her plan through. It’s more… _adventurous_ than anything she’s ever done, but surely after all Ben has… shown her, this would be alright, right?

She reaches with only _slightly_ trembling fingers to trail her fingers down the length of his tie. “Maybe that’s why I came by,” she murmurs. “To make sure you have fun.”

His brow furrows for a moment, clearly not taking the hint—and she turns her face down to watch as she pulls the tie from the clip only to let the end slip through her fingers. 

“You know…” She lets the tip of her index finger graze over his abdomen before she makes a slow circle over his fly. “Fun.”

His eyes widen when it clicks, mouth parting. “ _Here?”_

“I…” Her hand withdraws slightly with a worry she’s overstepped somehow. “Was that a stupid idea?”

“Are you kidding?” His hand slides up her spine to cup at her neck, pulling her closer as his lips move against hers. “How are you _so_ perfect?”

She catches herself grinning. “I think you’ve asked that before.”

“I’ve yet to find the answer to the question.”

Her fingers tease lower at his zipper again. “So does that mean you’re open to the idea?”

“ _God,_ yes. Are you—” 

His words die off when his phone begins to ring on his desk. He glances around her to glare at it, making a frustrated sound before he gives her his attention again. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. “I have a conference call.”

“Right now?”

He looks utterly disappointed by the fact. “That’s them now.”

She’s about to be fully dejected by this turn of events—but then an idea strikes her. A wicked, most likely _terrible_ idea. Her lips curl in a slow grin, shimmying off his lap until she can settle between his legs half under his desk. 

He looks down at her with wide eyes. “What are you—?”

“You know the rules, don’t you, Ben?” She reaches for his zipper, and he doesn’t stop her as she starts to work it down. “Can you be quiet for me?”

His mouth parts and his eyes darken, and she can feel the way he’s getting hard for her beneath the material of his black slacks—momentarily frozen as she works his fly apart to reach inside and slowly tug down his underwear. 

The phone is still ringing.

Rey pulls him out to give him a slow stroke from base to tip. “Are you going to answer that?”

His jaw works subtly as if considering, his nostrils flaring when she leans in to press her tongue to the underside of him. She makes a show of teasing the head of his cock with a slow swirl of her tongue—and Ben looks like he would like nothing more than to bend her over his desk right now.

 _Good,_ she thinks.

He reaches across the desk with shaking hands to press the speaker button, the subtle sounds of another person coming onto the line filling the space.

“Solo,” Ben answers tightly.

“Didn’t think you were going to answer,” someone says. “I’ve got your answers to my interrogatories here. Are you ready to go through them?”

“Sure,” Ben says with equal tension. 

Rey pulls his cockhead into her mouth at the same time as the other voice starts talking about some objection to number four—Rey trying to tune the voice out as she focuses on the way Ben is looking at her, at the way his fingers grip the arms of his chair.

She likes the way he feels against her tongue—the skin here silky and smooth even with its steely hardness—and she takes her time in letting him push over her tongue as she makes shallow bobs of her head to work him slowly. 

She hears his breath huff through his nostrils as he tilts his hips to push up into her mouth, and she immediately pulls off of him even as he makes an almost imperceptible sound of protest. She’s smiling even as she flattens her tongue against the underside of his glans, making it clear that she has every intention of torturing him fully.

“—was hoping we could just omit number nine, what do you say?”

Ben is looking directly at Rey with wild eyes even as the man on the phone asks for an answer, and she watches his lashes flutter when she teases the tip of her tongue against the little slit at the head. 

“Sure,” he grinds out. “Omit it. That’s fine.”

His every word sounds clipped, and she knows it’s terrible of her—distracting him like this, but it makes her feel _powerful,_ the way she can reduce him to such an addled mess. 

She surprises him by taking him deep all at once—sucking down nearly to the base and letting as much as she can slide over her tongue to swallow around him, and his fingers are in her hair in an instant, curling to grip the strands tight.

“Fucking killing me,” he says in a clipped tone, his head falling back against the chair.

“Well, I’m sorry.” The voice on the phone makes a frustrated sound. “I just don’t think you have the grounds to—”

“It’s fine, Jeremy. Omit that too.”

She’s moving faster now as _Jeremy_ begins to drone on about some statute she knows nothing about—beginning to bob her head in a steady rhythm without her earlier teasing. His breath sounds shallower even with it being so soft, short little bursts of air rushing out of his nostrils as he begins to thrust gently into her mouth to meet every slide of her lips over and down his shaft. 

She catches his gaze when she draws up his length again, suckling at the head briefly just to catch her breath a little. His lips move to mouth: _are you wet right now?_ and Rey nods up at him before she swirls her tongue around him, catching the flash of heat in his eyes as she starts circling his cockhead with her tongue again and again before she sinks back down to meet her fist that is wrapped around the base. 

She closes her eyes when they begin to water, trying her best not to gag around his size as she feels him beginning to twitch against her tongue. She presses her lips tightly around him as she works him faster and _faster_ —her scalp stinging just a little as his fingers unconsciously tighten their grip on her hair. His cock feels so deep she can feel the head of him pressing against her _throat_ , and if she peeks up through her watery lashes she can see the way his mouth hangs open, can see his eyes hooded and his face flushed from what she’s doing to him.

She doesn’t know why, but something about him continuing to try and pretend that everything is just business as usual with his cock deep in her throat makes her impossibly wetter—somehow keyed up enough to nearly be at the point of coming herself even though he hasn’t even touched her.

“I can”—his palms slide over her temples to cradle her face—“talk to my client and”—his fingertips press behind her ears to hold her in place as he starts to actively _fuck_ her mouth—“try to get clarification for number eleven.”

“Oh, good,” Jeremy answers. “And about number fourteen—”

“ _Fuck.”_

She feels it splash against the back of her tongue first as he pushes inside to hold her down on his cock, then feels the hot gush of it in her throat as she works to swallow him down without sputtering. 

“Something wrong?”

“ _No,”_ Ben answers Jeremy with a hiss. “Stubbed”—he takes a deep breath through his nostrils as she pulls off his cock—“my toe.”

Rey half-smiles around him, wondering if he's remembering another time when one of them lied about a stubbed toe. 

“Ah. Okay. Anyway, as I was saying—”

He’s staring down at her with those dark eyes of his even as he struggles to catch his breath—chest rising and falling roughly but silently against his dress shirt—watching as she continues to give him languid licks at his cockhead to clean away anything she might have missed. 

She leaves a soft kiss there with a slow smile before she pushes up against his knees to bring herself to his level—her lips brushing against his cheek before she leans to whisper in his ear, “I’ll leave you to it.”

And she has every intention to let him concentrate on his work, turning from his desk to leave him there—but his hand at her wrist is lightning-fast, pulling her back. She cocks an eyebrow at him as she stands beside his chair.

“Jeremy,” he says suddenly. “Hold on one second, okay?”

“Oh, of course.”

Ben reaches to hit the mute button on his desk phone, his hands going to Rey’s hips to pull her back to stand between his legs. “Who says I’m done with you?”

Her eyes widen. “But your call…”

“You think you can just tease me like that and get away with it?”

Her mouth parts as her cunt throbs in response. “I—”

“Turn around,” he tells her. “Bend over the desk.”

She stands there for only a moment as she tries to make sense of what he’s saying—feeling the tables being turned on her all at once. She glances from Ben to the desk and back again, the pressure between her thighs winning out over the lingering embarrassment of being so on display. 

It’s amazing what being out of your mind with arousal will do for your insecurity. 

She does as he asks and turns slowly, bending at the waist to let her cheek rest against a bare spot at his desk, the wood cool against her skin. His fingers find the button of her shorts as he makes quick work of getting them off with her underwear in tow—the chilled air touching her bare ass just before his warm palm covers one cheek. 

He rubs there softly for a moment, surprising her all at once when a finger from his other hand suddenly sinks into the warm wet of her cunt. “ _Ah.”_

“Now you’re going to sit just like this while I play with this pretty cunt of yours,” he tells her roughly. “And you’re not going to make a _sound_ until I finish this call. Do you understand?”

She whimpers in response, worried about her ability to meet such terms with the way he’s pulled out his finger only to tease it back and forth through her folds.

“I asked you a question, Rey,” he urges calmly. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” she breathes.

“Good,” he hums. “You do that, and then I’ll fuck you over my desk, hm? Sound good?”

“ _Yes,”_ she hisses as his fingers spread her so he can circle her clit. “I’ll be quiet.”

“You know what? I’m at work right now, Rey. Do you know what people call me here?”

She does her best to shake her head against his desk. 

“They call me _Sir_ here. Maybe you should too, since you interrupted me. What do you think?”

Her cunt clenches around a finger as he slowly pushes it back inside, biting at her lower lip. “ _Yes.”_

He grinds his finger deeper, and she could bring blood with the way her teeth work at her lower lip, trying to keep from gasping. “Yes, _Sir.”_

“Good girl,” he says with a pleased sort of sound. “I’m going to take Jeremy off mute now, Rey. Remember the rules.”

She gives him a nod, and another whispered: _yes, Sir_ —and she feels the tremor in his hands, knowing he’s just as turned on as she is by… whatever _this_ is. She never thought she could ever _want_ to be in a situation like this, but Ben is showing her that she wants all _sorts_ of things she never knew about.

She hears the tiny _beep_ of the phone being taken off mute even though she can’t see it with the way her head is turned, followed by Ben’s quiet, “Sorry about that. Go ahead.”

“Right,” Jeremy answers. “No problem. Now about your client’s answer on number fourteen…”

Rey closes her eyes as Ben lazily pumps his fingers in and out of her, twisting them as he goes to rub up against her inner walls in a way that makes her shiver. She can feel the way the slickness there coats her inner thighs to trickle down her thigh, and she has to reach up to clap a hand around her mouth when she feels Ben leaning in to press his tongue there to catch it. 

He licks along her skin until he can tease her labia with his tongue, licking between her folds after as he withdraws his fingers and reaches to spread her apart instead. Her thighs tense when she feels his tongue at her clit—not enough pressure to get her there but just enough to have her squirming—and she bites down on the heel of her hand roughly just to keep from crying out. 

She hears the voice on the phone quiet distantly after a moment, and Ben pulls away from her cunt to blow against her heated center briefly before he murmurs, “I think that will be fine. Did you have any amendments you wanted to add?”

“Yes, now that you mention it, I...”

She presses back against Ben’s face unconsciously when he dives back in to lick up the center of her, tonguing her entrance to try and force it inside as her teeth press against her hand so hard it begins to sting. 

She’s not sure if she’s disappointed or relieved when he pulls away—devoid of his hands and his mouth for a good number of seconds while she listens to the rustling of his clothes and the pounding of her own heart in her ears. 

Jeremy still drones on about some subsection or another, and for a moment she is just quietly suspended, zoned out to the sound of his dull voice—but then there are hands on her hips that pull her away from Ben’s desk, and it happens in one swift movement; one second she is bent over the massive piece of furniture without any sort of touch, and the next there is a hard nudge against her folds as something hard and thick glides inside.

Ben’s hand clamps over her mouth before a startled cry can escape her, the sound dying in her throat instead when she remembers herself as he slowly lets her sink down onto his cock. He holds her back to his front with one thick arm around her middle as that same hand remains tight over her mouth in warning, keeping her full and close and then just… _leaving_ her there.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t attempt to thrust—just keeps her impaled on his cock that throbs inside with soft pulses. He only tightens his arm around her when she attempts to squirm, to lift up and seek some sort of friction, making it clear with his grip that he has no plans for her outside of keeping her impaled on him while he finishes his call. 

She closes her eyes as she pulls her lip between her teeth, her inner walls contracting around him involuntarily as his breath catches softly near her ear. His fingers spread across her abdomen before they dip down slowly—Ben allowing them to tease between her folds and circle her clit at a slow, languid pace that does nothing but make her flush further.

“And you can have those amendments to me by Thursday?” Ben keeps his voice controlled and even as if he _doesn’t_ have her perched on his cock like a puppet. “Or will you need more time?”

“Thursday should be fine,” Jeremy assures him, just as Ben pulls back the hood of her clit to swipe the tip of a finger gently across it. “I can email you if I have any more problems.”

“Do you mind reading me back your schedule for the discovery conference before you go so I can jot it down?”

Rey grinds her teeth together as Jeremy assures him _of course he can_ before launching into a monotonous reading of names and times she can hardly make out—Ben now doing nothing more than stroking the tip of his finger up one side of her clit and down the other without _actually_ touching it. 

Her skin feels warm and tight and her lungs burn with the need to make some sound, _any sound_ —straining with the effort she’s exuding to hold them back, to _be a good girl_. She feels Ben’s lips at her throat, kissing there softly, moving up towards her ear until he can nibble at the lobe there.

He offers only a little relief with a slight circling of his hips in his chair—the motion allowing his cock to slide only a little against her inner walls and offering the _barest_ of friction. She shivers with it when he does it again, worked up enough by now that she thinks she could possibly come just from _this._

Her breath blows hot and heavy against his palm when he finally applies a light pressure at her clit, circling it lightly as her belly tightens and a shock of tingling pressure shoots off inside. 

“Great,” Ben says casually when Jeremy finishes speaking. “I’ve got it all written down. Was there anything else you needed from me?”

 _Dear God, let it be done,_ Rey thinks with an internal whine. 

“No,” Jeremy blessedly answers. “I think that’s it. I’ll email you confirmation on Thursday.”

“Sounds great,” Ben says, the airy quality of his voice the only thing that hints at him being just as needy as she feels. “Take care then.”

Rey doesn’t hear whatever Jeremy says in response—only hears the telltale sound of a line disconnecting before Ben’s breath falls heavy at her throat with a soft groan and his hand slips down from her mouth. “You did so good, Rey,” he says with much less calm than only a moment ago. “So fucking good. Thought I was going to fucking _lose it_ having you split open on my cock like this.”

“Can you—I need you to—”

“You need me to fuck you, sweetheart? You _deserve_ to be fucked after being such a good girl. Don’t you think?”

“ _Yes,”_ she hisses.

His fingers curl around her throat to apply a barely-there pressure as she gasps. “Yes, _what?”_

“Y-yes, _Sir,”_ she manages, her cunt clamping down on him as she gets impossibly wetter. “I deserve it.”

“Why don’t you ask me to fuck you? Can you do that? Can you ask me nicely?”

“Please,” she says airly, her skin feeling like one singular nerve ending at this point. “P-please fuck me.”

“Please…?”

“ _Please, sir.”_

“Perfect girl,” he moans softly, one hand wrapping around her hip. “Fucking _perfect.”_

“ _Ah.”_

He rolls his hips to thrust up into her, her body bouncing in his lap as his cock drives as deep as he can with the minimal space between them. He kisses at her throat as he does it again—holding her captive with his hand still firm against her throat and his arm still tight around her middle. 

He leans back in the chair so he can get a better angle, rolling his hips against hers to make shallow strokes that even without the depth still make her flushed and needy. 

“ _Christ,_ you’re wet,” he rasps against her hair. “How close are you, sweetheart?”

She tries to tell him that she’s _impossibly_ close—but it comes out as some sort of strangled sound that barely resembles human speech. 

“Can’t fuck you like this,” he growls. “Hold on.”

It’s as quick as it was before, the transition between one way to another—on their feet in seconds as he braces her against his desk without ever pulling out. Her palms land in a pile of papers that he hardly even seems concerned about—his hands gripping her hips as his body curls over hers. She slides forward with the weight of it, bracing on her elbows as he wastes no time in moving again.

He can hit deeper like this, his strokes sharp and long as she feels every inch of him sinking inside only to withdraw again—starting a rhythm that sets off a delicious friction that already has her dangerously close to coming.

“Oh,” she gasps quietly. _“Oh.”_

“ _Shh,”_ he shushes. “I’ve got you.”

She thinks if someone were to press their ear to his door they would surely hear the slap of his hips against her ass as he sets a furious pace; the sound of it seems deafening in her ears. She can’t decide if that knowledge terrifies or delights her.

Her back arches as she pushes back against his cock to meet every thrust, her eyes screwing shut as her mouth parts in a wordless cry as the delicious pressure inside climbs higher and higher. His hand creeps around her thigh until his fingers slide between her legs, abandoning all pretense as he circles her clit purposefully. Her inner walls tremble and her body pitches forward, meeting him thrust for thrust as she grits her teeth together to keep from crying out. 

“Gonna come,” he huffs, his fingers slipping against her clit with how wet she is. “Are you close?”

She only _just_ manages to nod frantically, focusing on the climbing sensation that nears its peak. 

“ _Oh,”_ she gasps quietly, keeping her voice to a hoarse whisper. “ _Rightthererightthererightthere.”_

She pushes back _hard_ to try and keep him inside when she starts to shake with her orgasm, her body tensing up and her cunt clamping down around him as he struggles to thrust back inside. He holds there after only seconds as a choked sound tears out of him—desperate even in its hushed tone as it resonates against her spine where his mouth is buried. She can feel that heavy twitch inside that she knows means he’s filling her—and it’s a strange type of pleasure, knowing she will be able to _feel_ him even after she leaves here. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles after a short while, still breathing a little raggedly. “How in the _fuck_ am I ever going to get anything done in this office with _this_ in my head?”

She manages a breathy laugh as she shifts her hips to tease him. “I’m sure you’ll manage. You’re a professional.”

“Mm.” His lips press against her spine through her shirt as his hand presses against her pubic bone to keep her flush against him. “And I’m not even giving you my hourly rate.”

“I could make a very fantastic _pro bono_ joke right now.”

A huff of a laugh just before he pulls out of her, Rey wincing a little with the tenderness inside—a good type of sore though.

He spins her just to pull her up into his arms, his fingers pushing through her hair as his lips move over hers softly, drawing out the kiss as another hand squeezes at her hip. “I thought about bending you over this desk the day I met you. Did you know that?”

She has to press her thighs together despite being thoroughly worn out from what they’ve just done. “You did?”

“Mhm.” He kisses at the corner of her mouth. “Fucking tight little skirt almost drove me insane. And those _shoes.”_

“What about my shoes?”

“You got me,” he laughs quietly.

“You’re sort of a deviant,” she hums. “I like it.”

“Good.” Another soft kiss at her mouth before he bends to collect her discarded clothes. He hands them to her so that she can change back into them, reaching to tuck himself back in his slacks. “Why don’t we go grab a late lunch somewhere and then pick up Ren? Watch a movie or something.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“It can wait,” he tells her. “They can do without me for half a day.”

Her lips curl in a grin. “I’d like that.”

He finishes zipping himself up before he starts to unroll his sleeves to right them (something that Rey thinks is a pity, because Ben Solo’s forearms are an aphrodisiac all by themselves), reaching for his jacket after. 

Rey gives him a worried look as she straightens her clothes. “Do you think your assistant will know what’s been going on in here?” 

“I’m pretty sure Armitage thinks I am more likely to keep women locked in my basement than fuck them in my office.”

“Wow, talk about a boss from hell,” she teases. “Although… The idea definitely has merit. Do you have a basement?”

He gives her ass a sharp slap before his hand settles at her back to steer her towards the door. “Come on, you.”

“I’m going to mouth: _help me_ when I walk by his desk.”

“Keep it up, and I will get a basement just to lock you in it.”

Rey is smiling to herself when Ben opens the door. 

She doesn’t tell him she might not mind very much. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story is just my porn diary at this point idk guys


	17. another surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *posts a poll about what I should update knowing what's going to win*  
> Nanny: *wins*  
> me: *surprised pikachu face*

It is days later after Rey’s mind-blowing surprise visit on a rare occasion of Ben being off that his mother shows up unannounced in the morning to whisk Ren away to a day of shopping—promising to have him back by that afternoon so that they can all have dinner together. At first, Ben hadn’t known what to do with himself given that Rey was out on a run and the house was empty for the first time in weeks—but it hadn’t taken long for a plan to take root in his mind, giddy with the idea of having a few hours of nothing but Rey and a very empty house. 

He sends her a text the moment Leia pulls out of the drive.

_Hurry back. Mom took Ren for a few hours, and I have plans to make good use of them._

Her response is immediate.

**Oh really. How do you plan to do that?**

_How far away are you?_

**Ten minutes, maybe?**

_You’ll see._

* * *

He’s waiting for her when she strolls back into the house not a half hour later—unable to help the visceral reaction his body has to the sight of her in a tight pink tank top and even tighter black yoga pants. 

She gives him a curious look as she tugs her earbuds from her ears. “So what are these plans I’m hearing about?”

“It definitely involves me peeling all of that off of you,” he tells her pointedly. 

Her lips curl. “I had to assume.”

He holds out his hand for her to take, and she slides her little fingers inside his palm as he tugs her off down the hall. 

“I’m all sweaty,” she complains. 

“I know,” he answers. “I was counting on that.”

He leads her into her bedroom, past her bed towards the attached bath—and she makes a quiet sound of surprise when she finds the massive jacuzzi tub there filled to the brim with steaming water and downy clouds of bubbles.

She’s still staring when he turns to curl his fingers under the hem of her tank top. “I think I mentioned peeling all this off of you.” He starts to inch up the fabric. “Arms up.”

She obeys so that he can do exactly as he promised, so he can peel the tight material up and over her head to bare her pretty little tits that even now beg for his mouth, but he keeps his focus as he reaches for her pants—if you can even call them that—next, rolling them down her legs.

There’s a tiny little black thong underneath that makes his mouth dry, and he can’t help but pluck at the string at her hip curiously.

“Panty lines,” she mutters. 

He gently urges her to turn with a tug at her hip, giving him her back as he gently tugs the hair tie at the crown of her head to let down her hair. He takes a knee after as he tosses it on the counter, going to the floor to squeeze at her ass, pressing his mouth there before he gives her a graze of teeth as he pulls the tiny scrap of fabric over her hips and down her thighs. He kisses a path up her spine as he rises to his feet again, noticing the way her breath has turned harsher now. 

“Get in the tub, Rey.” 

She turns her face, biting at her lip as she catches his gaze. “What about you?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he says assuredly, tugging his shirt up and over his head in one swift movement. “I’ll be joining you.”

She backs into the tub to settle under the bubbles at its center—watching as he strips down to nothing just outside of it. He climbs in after her to scoot to the back edge, maneuvering until she’s settled between his legs, her back to his front and his thighs on either side of hers. His knees are just visible above the bubbles, and his hands find her shoulders to rub there as she sinks down further in the water.

“Mm,” she hums. “This is not what I thought you meant when you said you had plans.”

He shifts until he can get his lips on her throat, mouthing there softly. “That comes after.”

“This is good too,” she murmurs. “Knew this big tub would come in handy.”

He reaches for the edge of the tub for a loofah that’s lying there, dipping it under the water only to hold it out over her chest and ring it out. The water drips down over her breasts to uncover them from the bubbles, and he touches the soft sponge to her skin to start rubbing slow circles there. For a while they’re both quiet, Rey content to let Ben wash her lazily as she nestles deeper into his chest.

“Mm,” she hums after a time.

Her head falls back against his shoulder as her lips part quietly, squirming a little against him as he makes careful passes over the taut little buds of her nipples. “Feels good?”

“Mhm.”

He pushes down between her breasts to circle over her stomach beneath the water. “I like you like this.”

“All sweaty?”

“Naked.” He closes his lips to leave a wet kiss at the bend in her shoulder. “Wet.” He turns his face to flick his tongue against her throat. “And not just from the bath.”

His other hand curls around her hip to slide between her legs, two fingers dipping between her folds where even in the bathwater he can tell that she’s a little wet for him there. He only lingers there briefly before he draws his hand back, resuming the lazy path he’s tracing over her body with the loofah. 

“I’m not even sure I’ve ever really taken a bath here,” he mutters. “Not since I bought the house.”

“What a waste,” she scoffs. She laughs after, lifting her foot to press it against the top of his that is scrunched at the wall of the tub—nearly too small for him even with its impressive size. “Still. You barely fit, so… I guess it makes sense.”

“Worth it,” he says against her throat. “I have a new appreciation for it.”

“Definitely going to miss it when I have to go back to Finn and Rose’s tiny little shower.”

His hand stills against her skin. It’s not something he thinks about often, purposely—the knowledge that in just a few more short weeks Rey won’t be just a few doors down is not a pleasant thought for Ben. He swallows thickly just before he resumes his slow strokes against her skin. He doesn’t answer her, not really sure how he would anyway—just tracing languid patterns on her skin with the sodden sponge. 

“You mentioned yesterday you’d enrolled for the new year,” he says instead, changing the subject. “Are you excited to almost be done?”

“Extremely,” she huffs. “Feels like I’ve been in school half my damn life.”

He chuckles softly under his breath. “It’ll be worth it. In the end.”

“Here’s hoping,” she sighs, shifting so that she can melt further against him. “Keep doing that.”

He smiles against her hair as he keeps up the slow circling of her breasts with the loofah. “Bossy thing.”

“You’re going to spoil me,” she chuckles. “How am I going to wash myself after this?”

“You seem to be under the illusion that I wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to handle all of your washings myself for the foreseeable future.”

A soft laugh. “Would you.”

“You are welcome to this tub anytime you like,” he tells her with a hint of something like promise, meaning something much more than what he’s saying. “I… am reluctant to see you leave it if I’m being honest.”

She keeps quiet for a moment, and he knows that she knows he doesn’t just mean this tub. Her toe dips out of the water to trace the edge of the faucet. “Me too,” she says quietly after a time. 

He doesn’t expand on the statement, because he isn’t really sure how—he knows it’s ludicrous to ask her to stay after only a couple of weeks of being… whatever they are. He _absolutely_ knows that. Doesn’t keep him from entertaining the idea though, as crazy as it is.

“I picked something up for you,” he tells her, changing the subject yet again. “By the way.”

He can hear the smile in her voice. “Another surprise?”

“Just as much for me as it is for you,” he laughs. “I bought you a dress.”

“A dress?”

“Unless you’ve changed your mind about coming to my next function with me.”

She lifts away from him so that she can turn and look at him. “You really wanted me to?”

“I think the dress I just put in your closet less than an hour ago would be evidence of that,” he says with a grin. 

Her cheeks dimple with her smile, a brief expression that falters as her brow knits with thought. “But what about Ren?”

“I’m sure my mother will be happy to keep him for an evening.”

“But won’t that be hard to explain? Neither of us being around?”

“Good point,” he says thoughtfully, reaching to brush the wet ends of her hair from her face. “Guess I’ll just have to tell her the truth.” His thumb brushes back and forth across her cheek. “That we have a date.”

Her smile is slow, but the way it creeps across her mouth, the way it lights up her entire face as the implications of such a thing settle—it’s fucking brilliant. She leans in close to press her lips to his, the wet peaks of her breasts brushing across his chest as her hands curl over his shoulders. Ben drops the loofah in the water as his hands grab at her hips, fingers digging in the plump curve of her ass as he pulls her closer. 

It’s most likely obvious, the way his cock slides hard and insistent against her wet skin—and Rey’s fingers reach slowly and carefully beneath the water to tease her fingers along his shaft, her thumb rubbing against the slick head of him when she finds it. Her lips move over his with purpose, increasing in pressure and eagerness, and Ben lets one large hand slide up her spine until his palm cups at her nape, holding her close. 

“I think you’re clean enough,” he murmurs into her mouth, his tongue petting at her lower lip. “Don’t you?”

She gives him an airy nod that is more than enough answer, and it takes little effort to rise from the tub, to lift her wet body up into his arms and step out of the tub with her in tow. He grabs for a towel from the rack with one hand, draping it across her back in a weak attempt to clear the suds clinging to her skin there—not sparing too much effort with the way he’s still distracted by her mouth.

She’s still damp when he lays her over the bed—but Ben finds he doesn’t mind much, giving his legs a quick pat-down before chucking the towel somewhere on the floor and climbing up over her warm, pink skin that is still coated in tiny little droplets from the bath. She makes a soft sound when he ducks his head to slide his tongue over the swell of her breast—gathering up the droplets there before he crests it over the pebbled peak of her nipple.

He sucks the hardened little bud into his mouth as his fingers curl around the swell to squeeze, swirling his tongue there. “You know,” he rasps against her skin, his hand trailing down her belly. “There’s no one here.” His teeth nip higher at her breast. “No one to be quiet for.” He curls his fingers between her legs to meet the soft wet there. “Today you can be as loud as you want to be.”

“ _Ben,”_ she gasps when he eases two fingers inside her. “ _Ah.”_

“It means I don’t have to worry about the sounds you make,” he tells her as he grinds his fingers a little deeper. “When I tease this wet little cunt of yours.” He curls his fingers to stroke at her front wall, drawing a sharp inhale from her. “It means I can make you fucking _scream_ if I want to.”

His fingers slip out of her just so he can grip her hips—a sharp sound of surprise tearing out of her throat as he rolls them, draping her over his front. It only takes a little maneuvering to shimmy up her bed, propping his head against her pillows as she pushes up against his chest to look down at him. Her hair falls around her in soft waves, her straight, white teeth making an imprint against her pink lower lip as she looks down at him.

There’s a tightness in his chest that is almost alarming with the way it swells, the way it makes his heart race—some emotion he can’t really name stirring there and making it a little hard to breathe for a brief moment. He reaches to comb his fingers through her hair carefully, his palm cupping her cheek as he tries to calm the racing of his own heart.

She curls her body at the waist to bring her mouth to his—kissing him slowly, _sweetly_ —only worsening that tight sensation in his chest, only making it that much harder to _breathe_ with the swelling emotions stirring there.

Even when she pulls away he’s still dizzy with it, lifting his head to take another kiss before his hands curl over her thighs that are draped over his belly. “Scoot up,” he tells her.

She draws back with a confused expression. “Scoot up?”

“Yes.” He tugs at her thighs as he brings his fingers to his lips. “Want you right here.”

There’s a pretty blush that creeps up her neck to color her cheeks, her eyes widening a little. 

“Grab the headboard,” he instructs quietly. “And straddle me.”

She looks confused at first, and maybe just a little bit embarrassed, but Ben doesn’t tear his eyes away.

“I said I was going to make you scream,” he tells her thickly, tapping at his mouth again with the tip of his finger. “And you’re going to sit right here until you do.”

Her breath catches as she continues to stare back down at him for a moment, but then there is a light shift of her body, a careful inching up his chest as she tries to comply—and Ben helps her along with gentle tugs of his hand until her thighs are draped on either side of his face and her hands are clenching at the headboard to hold her steady.

He can see everything like this, way she’s glistening and wet between her legs, the way her little hole twitches as if begging him to fill it—and he reaches between them to tease a finger through her folds, dragging higher until he can roll the little bundle of her clit beneath the pad of his finger as she squirms with it.

“You’re so fucking pretty here,” he whispers, sliding the tip of his finger down and down until he can tease her entrance. “So soft.”

He slips his finger inside, curling it, petting at her front wall as she clenches around it—flicking his eyes up to meet her gaze just as he leans in to lick through her folds in a heavy pass of his tongue. Her mouth parts as she watches, and she watches him close his lips around her to suck softly at her labia, teasing his tongue up one side and down the other. He suctions to her clit just to tug at it softly, to pull it deeper into his mouth for one long pull before he releases her with a slick sound that has her thighs shaking a little around his ears. 

He slips his finger out only to return with another, pumping them in and out of her as she rocks gently against his mouth in a way that seems almost unconscious. “ _Oh.”_

“Move,” he rasps against her core. “Do what feels good.” He closes his lips around her clit to suck noisily at it just to release her with a soft _pop._ “Fuck me the way you _need_ to.”

A breathy sigh tumbles past her lips as her head tilts back open-mouthed, her hips tilting to slide her cunt against his mouth as he chases after her with his tongue. He licks at her greedily as his fingers fill her again and again—twisting and grinding deep as he seals his lips around her clit to suck it as deep into his mouth as it will go. She makes some garbled sound that is low and drawn out—the sound of it ringing out in her room, making his cock swell as it juts up towards his navel, begging to be inside her, but not _yet._

He moans against her as he feels her getting wetter around his fingers, her cunt cinching around him in slick little contractions that tell him how close she is, how near she is to tumbling over the edge. He curls his other hand at her ass to pull her closer to his face—Rey practically thrusting against his mouth unabashedly now as choked sounds escape her one after the other.

“Ben,” she moans. “ _Ben._ ” One hand slips from the headboard to fist in his hair, holding him closer, and he hears blood rushing in his ears because it might be the hottest thing he’s ever experienced, her using him for her own pleasure. “That feels—I’m gonna—”

He hums against her in a low groan as she circles her hips to grind against his mouth, her breath leaving her in sharp pants as the soft wet of her begins to quiver. He draws out his fingers to push three back inside—and there’s a sharp gasp above him followed by a throaty sound of pleasure that he feels deep down in his belly and lower still in his cock that throbs with need. 

And she comes with a gush and a low moan as her body trembles and shakes, and Ben keeps her there against his mouth with a heavy grip at her ass, his fingers tight against her skin as her head falls back. She tries to tug away when it becomes too much, but Ben doesn’t let her go, still licking at her cunt even when she gasps that she _can’t, not again_ —but Ben knows better. 

He lets his hand fall from between her legs to grab at the other rounded cheek of her ass, keeping her tight against his face as he finds the swollen bud of her clit even as she cries out with the sensation of it. He sucks _hard_ until she’s doing exactly what he wanted, until she’s _screaming_ his name over and over and _over_ again—and he doesn’t stop until she gives him another, until she’s shaking all over again and her fluids coat his lips and his chin to saturate him in her. 

Only then does he let her go, does he let her lean back to sit against his chest, her head draped over her forearm that rests against the headboard as she struggles to collect her breath. He turns his face to kiss at her thighs instead, his fingers curling around them on either side as his lips move softly at the inside. 

He has to wrap his arms around her waist to try and roll them again, her arms looping around his neck as he shifts to lay her out underneath him. Her eyes are hooded and her chest still heaves a little with the way she struggles to catch her breath, and he lowers to kiss over her cheek and down her jaw. Her breath catches when he tilts his hips to slide his cock through her slick folds—rubbing himself along her wet slit as his breath huffs against her jaw. 

He feels her fingers gliding over his shoulders, feels them tangling in his hair as she turns her face, as she kisses at his cheek and his jaw and everywhere else she can reach—and it’s there again, that tightness in his chest, that swelling emotion that has him trembling a little. His hand reaches to cup around her neck, his fingers delving into her hair as he brings her mouth to his, his lips moving over hers in a slow kiss just before his tongue slips inside. 

And he’s still kissing her when he dips his hips, when the head of his cock nudges at her wet entrance—bracing a knee against the bed as he slowly eases inside. “Feels too good,” he grunts. “Always so fucking _good_ inside you.”

“ _Ah._ Ben, _yes,_ that’s—”

He rolls his hips to give her one hard thrust, holding her close. “Just like that, sweetheart,” he breathes against her throat where his mouth moves over her skin. “Wanna _hear_ it.” His hand slides down her thigh to open her legs wider, rocking into her at a building rhythm that has his hips slapping against hers. “Fucking _perfect_ cunt.”

“Oh. _Oh._ _Ben._ I’m going to— _fuck._ ”

“Yeah? You gonna come on this cock?”

“Yes. _Yes, Ben._ Keep—Right there—”

Ben moans against her throat as she contracts around him inside. “Gonna make me come if you keep squeezing like that. That what you want? Want my cum in this soft little cunt?”

“Ben. _Ben.”_

“ _Say it_ ,” he hisses. “Say you want my cum inside.”

“I want”—her nails bite into the hard muscle at his shoulders—“ _ohmyGodIwant”_ —her knees press on either side of his hips as he slams inside—“your cum. I want—” He can feel the way she’s clenching, the way she’s getting wetter around him, and his teeth find the soft skin of her shoulder to stifle a moan there. “ _I want_ —”

“Fuck. _Fuck._ _Rey._ ”

His forehead rests against hers now, his hand cupping her cheek as his breath intermingles with hers. There’s a moment, one tiny moment where he feels her fingers in his hair, her lips soft and warm against his—and it’s there, that _feeling_ inside that seems like it’s bubbling up, like it’s resting on his tongue with something heavy and foreign—and he holds her as close as he can as he moves inside her, as she clings to him just as tightly, whimpering softly as she gets tighter, so much _tighter_ inside, as she—

He swallows down her choked sounds as she starts to come again, as her body begins to shake and her insides cinch around him—chasing after her with stuttered thrusts as his tongue slides over hers and his hands grip her tight. It’s like a full-body sigh when he finally starts to come, driving into her that final time as he groans through it. Her mouth is warm where it rests against his, her hands soft as they smooth over his shoulders in a soothing motion.

He can’t be sure how long they stay like that, feeling like it takes him seconds, or maybe hours, to recover—breath still a little ragged when he finally, _finally_ pulls away to look down at her. Her lips curl in a sweet sort of smile that makes his chest hurt, her eyes still dark and dreamy looking as she reaches to languidly shove his hair away from his eyes. 

And he can’t say what it is exactly that does it, can’t say what minute thing it is that makes it all clear as if it’s always been there, and now it is simply _awake_ —but it hits him then. It hits him like a bag of bricks to leave him winded and dazed, because how is it even _possible_?

_He loves her._

It’s too soon, definitely too soon—but it’s there, lurking just beneath the surface, bright like a neon sign with the way it demands to be known. Ben opens his mouth only to close it again, swallowing around the growing lump in his throat as he tries to get a handle on what he’s feeling. He tries to draw back, to pull out of her, but her hands fly to his waist, holding him there, keeping him inside.

“Don’t,” she tells him quietly, tugging softly at her lower lip with her teeth, and then again softly with her lips brushing against his cheek: “Not yet.”

He buries his face against her throat instead, arm snaking underneath her to pull her into his chest as he rolls them to their sides. Even as he softens he’s still half-inside her—nestled in her warmth as he begins to leave languid kisses up her throat and over her jaw.

“So I can’t help but wonder about this… dress you bought me,” she says with a hint of a smile in her voice. “I wonder what sort of dress Ben Solo would put me in?”

He grins against her cheek. “Something with a questionable neckline.”

“Somehow this comes as no surprise to me,” she chuckles.

“It doesn’t matter,” he murmurs, closing his lips at her skin lazily. “I’ll just be taking it off you later in the evening.”

There’s a stretch of quiet that spans for several seconds, and when he pulls away he notices the uncertainty in her expression. Her eyes move over his face as her jaw works subtly. “You really want to tell Leia that you… that we’re… well. You know.”

“They’re going to find out eventually,” he says with a shrug.

“Eventually,” she echoes, her lips curling at the implication. “Right.”

He could tell her right now, he thinks, that he loves her—the enormity of it still leaving him a little dizzy if he’s being honest, but he thinks it’s too much, too soon, so he holds his tongue. He kisses her instead, slowly, savoring it, and he feels his cock twitch inside her when her tongue runs over his bottom lip.

“You know… they won’t be back for a little while,” he murmurs against her mouth. “Seems a shame to waste it.”

She laughs softly. “Does it.”

“Mhm.” He shifts his hips just enough to let her feel him inside. “Definitely.”

“Can’t argue with that logic,” she hums, kissing him back.

It’s harder to keep up a conversation now; her hands begin to wander and her thighs press against his hips—and he doesn’t tell her that he’s in love with her, ultimately deciding that it’s too much all at once, that he needs to make sense of it for _himself_ before he puts that on her. 

He tells himself it’s _not_ because there’s a hint of anxiety beneath it all, the possibility of her not feeling the same way muddying the waters of his newfound realization, telling himself that he _isn’t_ utterly terrified of this tiny woman and all the power he’s realizing she holds over him. 

Right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing says: _I love you_ like face sitting


	18. past your bedtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what?? is this?? a pornless chapter?? with maybe a bit of plot??
> 
> also yes I know I upped the chapter count again just DONT SAY ANYTHING I KNOW I ONLY UP CHAPTER COUNTS FOR PORN IM DISGUSTING OKAY

She’s nervous, and she can’t even really pinpoint exactly _why_ she’s nervous. 

Ben has touched her in almost every way imaginable by now, has been inside her more times than she can count—but it’s very different, she thinks, this thing they’re doing. 

This is a _date_.

She smoothes her hands over the silky red fabric at her hips, trying to calm her nerves as she takes another sip from the champagne flute that rests on the bar. The dress is finer than anything she thinks she’s every worn—the bodice a tight, fitted silk that cinches around her abdomen to connect to two tight panels that form a deep vee that nearly touches her navel, and the skirt billowing out slightly to disguise the thigh-high slit that is more noticeable when she walks. 

It still makes her a little giddy, remembering the way he helped her put it on before they came here. 

She can see him a few dozen feet away—chatting with some older man in an equally-crisp suit but wearing it nowhere near as well as Ben is. There’s a smile at his mouth as he talks, one that is familiar but nowhere near as easy as she’s used to. Almost like it’s forced. 

She takes another sip as his eyes flick over to meet hers, smiling around the rim of her flute as his grin turns into something more recognizable, something more _Ben._ It’s enough to make her shift a little, knowing that it’s for her—but she’s aware that he can’t be _entirely_ blamed for that. 

Or rather, he _can_ —but that’s an entirely different matter. 

She watches him lean in with a brush of his fingers against the older man's elbow, apparently excusing himself since he steps away only seconds later. She turns when she notices him crossing the polished ballroom floor to where she’s waiting on him, still smiling into her glass when she feels his presence approach behind her just before a hand curls around her hip. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs in her ear. “I should have warned you that these are terribly boring.”

She shakes her head. “Are you kidding? This bunch?” 

“Lawyers aren’t usually very much fun,” he tells her. 

She turns to lean against the bar, cocking her head as she smiles up at him. “Ben Solo, did you dress me up and bring me here as a distraction?”

“Does that sound like something I would do?”

“It might,” she hums, letting her elbow rest against the bartop. “Seems like a waste of a dress to me.”

“A waste of a dress?” He scoffs as his hand curls around her hip, leaning in a little. “Hardly. _Look_ at you,” he breathes. “It's _definitely_ not a waste.” His eyes flick down the length of her. “Although, I didn't anticipate how much that dress would make me want to just keep you home instead.”

Her mouth quirks. “You weren’t kidding about a _questionable_ neckline.” She teases a finger at the lowest point of said neckline while cocking an eyebrow. “Anyone taller than me might be able to see straight down to my toes.”

“Well,” he chuckles. “I _am_ a good bit taller than you.” His eyes dip down to the deep vee to linger there. “I’ll just have to make sure I’m the only one close enough to see.”

She’s smiling as she pushes up on her toes to meet his mouth, and he doesn’t stop her as her lips brush against his, leaning into it instead, making her belly flutter with a giddy sensation because this is a _real_ date.

“No complaints there,” she murmurs. 

There’s a warmth in his eyes when he pulls away, still letting them roam down the length of her appreciatively—and any other time Rey might feel uncomfortable under such scrutiny while being draped in such finery, but with Ben it only makes her feel _wanted._

Something she’s admittedly still getting used to.

“You know,” she teases. “Ren said I looked like a _princess_ before he left with Leia.”

There’s a barely-there smile at his mouth. “Did he.”

“He did,” she confirms with a nonchalant expression. “Maybe you should step up your compliment game.”

Ben _hmphs_ out a laugh as one side of his mouth quirks. “I’m not sure about a princess, but you’re definitely a bit of a brat.”

“Oh, am I?”

“A bit,” he murmurs. “Maybe I should do something about that.”

She grins cheekily as her stomach flutters. “Maybe you should.”

“Later,” he promises quietly. “You’re going to need to be good and ready for what I have planned.”

Heat creeps up her neck as she bites back a grin, squirming a little as she thinks about the pair of them in her bedroom before they came here, as she thinks about what she’s currently… hiding.

_God, look at that. So fucking tight. This will be my cock later. The way I’m going to fuck this perfect—_

She lets her eyes move across the ballroom floor to linger on the live band playing a soft melody on a platform just beyond, trying to ignore the warmth pooling low in her belly that makes it hard to sit still. She clears her throat as she shifts a bit, focusing on the couples on the dance floor briefly before tilting her head in their direction when her eyes find Ben’s again. 

“I think you promised me dancing.”

His mouth tilts up at the corners in a way that’s almost wicked. “Are you sure that you’re… comfortable enough for that?”

Her cheeks heat with another blush as she fidgets a bit. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “Then I guess I owe you a dance.”

His fingers wind through hers as she sets her nearly-empty champagne flute on the bar, letting him lead her through the crowd of people out onto the dance floor to pull her close. One large hand encompasses her waist as the other keeps hers held tight inside it, beginning to sway softly in time with the music.

She laughs softly when he turns them in a way that feels practiced. “You didn’t tell me you could _actually_ dance.”

“Leia Organa believed in two things while I was growing up,” he tells her. “One: that she is always right, and two: all men should know how to dance.”

“Leia is a smart woman,” Rey laughs. 

Ben hmphs goodnaturedly. “She would agree with you.”

“Well, it’s coming in handy. Isn’t it?”

“Mhm.” His eyes rake over the lines of her face in quiet study, adding a quiet, “She always reasoned at the very least I could dance at my wedding. If I ever had one.”

Rey feels heat flushing in her chest, her mouth feeling a little dry under the weight of his stare. “I’m sure she’ll be right about that too,” Rey answers quietly. “Someday.” 

“Someday,” he echoes in that same faraway tone.

They’re quiet as he continues to move her expertly, his hand sliding over her hip to press against her lower back in a way that brings her closer to him, keeping her flush with his body as he leads her. Rey closes her eyes to let her cheek rest against his shoulder, smiling softly to herself as she simply enjoys the moment. 

There’s a fullness in her chest that seems to plague her more and more in the days since they started this—one that leaves her in a constant state of giddy happiness that only seems to increase as time goes on. She finds herself waking up wanting to talk to him, to _touch_ him—finds herself wanting the same thing throughout her entire day up until she falls asleep just so she can start the process all over again. It’s a strange and foreign feeling, but not at all an unpleasant one, she finds. 

She finds herself wondering what that feeling is.

“I haven’t asked you how you’re feeling,” he says after a moment, changing the subject. “Since we got here.”

Another blush. “I feel okay. I’m used to it now, I think.”

“But you can feel it,” he prods, his tone low, almost like a purr.

_Do you see how shiny it is, Rey? I picked this one because it will add a nice sensation of weight._

“Yes,” she whispers. “I feel it.”

 _I want you to_ feel _it._

He makes a soft, satisfied sound in his chest. “Good.”

_That way you’ll be thinking about the way I’m going to take it out later and give you my cock instead._

“Not that it isn’t… distracting,” she admits. 

She can hear the smile in his voice. “Distracting.”

“Yeah. When I move, I—” She clears her throat. “Well. I can definitely _feel_ it.”

He turns his face until his lips hover near her ear. “Just imagine what I’m going to do to you when I get you home,” he murmurs. “I have so many plans for you tonight.”

“Plans?” Her voice sounds a little airier as a shiver passes down her spine. “What sort of plans?”

A throaty chuckle that makes her stomach clench with anticipation. “Extensive ones.”

“You know…” Her skin feels a little heated now, her knees a little weaker. “We’ve been here for an hour now. You could just… take me home.”

His lips press against her throat in a barely-there way, his voice still dangerously soft. “Are you that eager for my cock, Rey?”

Her cunt clenches around nothing as a quiet, needy sound escapes her. 

“I bet you’re wet right now,” he breathes against her skin. “Aren’t you.”

“ _Yes,”_ she hisses. 

“Poor Rey,” he laughs breezily. “So full and yet so _empty.”_

She makes a frustrated sound, her arousal making her hyper aware of the… intrusion she’s experiencing. “Ben.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not helping things,” she huffs.

“Is that what you want? Help?”

He pulls back to look at her with that same wicked smile that makes her stomach flip—and the pressure between her legs makes itself known with a noticeable throb that sets a rhythm much like a heartbeat. 

“Maybe,” she half-whispers, holding his gaze.

His hand wanders until his fingers curl against her hip to hold her there, his eyes roaming over the lines of her face. He leans in close then, eyes slightly hooded as his mouth hovers near hers, close enough to touch but not _quite._

Her heart hammers in her chest, thinking that maybe he’ll agree to put her out of her misery now, that he’ll take her _home—_ and she holds her breath when the weight of his mouth finally presses against hers.

“You’ll just have to bear with it a little bit longer,” he murmurs against her mouth with a quiet laugh.

She huffs as he pulls away, the amusement in his expression wicked and maddening. “How rude.”

“Oh, I plan to do _several_ rude things to you, Rey.” He lets his fingers flex against her waist as he pulls her closer. “Just not right now.”

He’s still moving her to the music when he nears to press a soft kiss at her cheek; Rey shivers down to her toes as she dwells on the promise of _several rude things_ to come.

She knows they’ll be worth the wait.

* * *

An hour later, Rey has shared three more dances with Ben, and with more champagne in her system—she feels looser now, more relaxed, more like she’s on a _date_. Something that still makes her feel a little giddy when it so happens to cross her mind, which is often, if she’s being honest. 

She’s again hovering near the bar as Ben makes another circuit about the room, and she wonders what her expression might look like to a passerby as her eyes seem to follow them of their own accord. It’s amazing to her the difference between this Ben and the one she is exposed to at home, the Ben shaking hands and smiling politely a far cry from the one that plays with LEGO just because an eight-year-old asks and tries (and fails) to make pancakes on an early Sunday morning just to surprise Rey and said eight-year-old.

His brow remains furrowed through most conversations, his responses limited but his attention rapt, and she can feel the control he exudes even from across the room, can sense the way he is so comfortable with the high demand of this profession he’s chosen. It makes Rey think of the way he is when they’re alone, with his murmured voice in her ear leaving filthy instructions and his heavy hands moving her whichever he likes—and Rey thinks that perhaps home Ben and work Ben are not so different after all.

As the night wears on she finds herself shifting more and more with the reminder of the little game they’re playing, and she can only hope at this point that Ben has plans to get her home soon, finding herself pressing her thighs together more often than not with a need of some sort of _relief_.

Even now she finds herself squirming on the barstool as if this might offer some respite, and she’s so focused on such a venture that she hardly notices the body sidling up next to her, rapping their knuckles across the bar to seek another drink before turning to give their full attention to Rey whose own attention is still far away across the room where Ben is chuckling softly to something someone has just said. 

“And who might you be?” Rey startles a little at the closeness of the voice, turning her face to notice an older gentleman with piercing blue eyes smiling down at her with a sweetness that doesn’t quite sit right. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Oh.” Rey sets her champagne flute at the bar. “No, sir, you wouldn’t have. I came as a guest.”

“Ah, that’s right,” he answers with that same too-sweet smile. “I believe I saw you dancing with Ben, am I right?”

She nods softly. “Yes, sir. I came as his date.”

“Forgive me,” he offers, extending a withered hand wrapped in pale, thinning skin that seems to cling to his bones. “I’m being rude. Alfred Snoke. I’m a managing partner at Ben’s firm.”

Rey tries not to think about her current… _state_ while having a conversation with Ben’s _boss_ —but she has to admit it’s… difficult. She places her hand in his anyway, careful not to grimace at the leathery texture of his skin. She can’t say what it is about him that she doesn’t quite like, but she can’t help but notice the way his eyes dip down the front of her dress only to flick back up to her face just as fast. 

“Rey,” she tells him. “Rey Johnson.”

“Rey,” he tests, nodding even as she lets her hand slip from his grip. He chuckles to himself as he turns to take the drink the bartender has returned with. “I can see now why Ben has been sneaking away from work so often.”

Rey feels her cheeks heat in a blush. “Oh, well I—”

“It’s alright.” He raises a hand in apology, continuing to laugh softly. “Can’t say that I blame him, really.”

She doesn’t know how to respond to that, and can only manage a nervous sort of laugh as her eyes dart across the room to where Ben is still trapped in conversation, unaware of her current plight. 

“Such a hard worker, Ben,” Mr. Snoke carries on as he takes a slow sip of his drink. “One of the finest lawyers I’ve ever hired on.”

Rey nods thoughtfully. “Yes, Ben is very”—she frowns, searching for the right word and knowing she knows almost nothing about what sort of lawyer Ben is—“capable.”

“He is,” Mr. Snoke agrees. “He’s been so dedicated in his pursuit of making partner. I wondered what it could be that would tempt him away from his diligent work ethic as of late.” He offers her another saccharine smile that does little more than make her uncomfortable. “I suppose now I have my answer.”

“Sir, Ben works _insane_ hours,” she says suddenly, unable to help herself. “I don’t think I’ve really—”

“No, no, you misunderstand me,” he placates. “I’m tickled that Ben is thriving in his”—his eyes make that same icky sweep down the front of her before climbing back up to meet hers—“personal life.” He shrugs. “It’s just been such a dream of his to make partner, you see. What he’s been working towards for his entire _career_ , really—it just pains this old man to see him pushing it aside lately.”

Rey frowns, bristling a little under Mr. Snoke’s loaded words. “Sir, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you were implying—”

“Ah, Ms. Johnson,” he chuckles dryly. “A wise man once told me to never imply when you don’t know any better.” He downs his drink before leaving it at the bar—shuffling to pat Rey’s shoulder, clearly done with her. “It’s served me well.”

He leaves her gaping at the bar, wondering what on Earth she’s just experienced. What a _prick_ , she thinks. Everything about the interaction she’s just had leaves her feeling slimy and unsettled. Almost as if Ben’s boss had been threatening her somehow, threatening _Ben_.

She’s still trying to collect herself when another body makes itself known, one much larger and much warmer as it presses close to let a large hand curl at her hip. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs into her hair. “The most unfortunate part of these functions is the sheer _volume_ of socializing I’m forced to do.”

She finds her lips curling despite herself. “Oh, the horror.”

“It also keeps me from taking you home and peeling this dress off of you as early as I’d like to,” he hums.

“Now _that’s_ the real tragedy here.”

“Mhm.” He kisses her temple. “I saw you talking to Alfred. I hope he wasn’t too overbearing. He can be a little intense.”

Rey frowns, unsure of how to tell him that his boss might actually be a douchebag. “He’s… something.”

“What did he say?”

“He might have mentioned you’ve been… distracted at work. Lately. He seemed to accredit that to me.”

“Well, I mean…” Ben shakes his head. “It’s just that there’s… something to come home to now. _People_ to come home to.”

Rey glances at her feet, still feeling the lingering sensation of guilt. “I never meant to… be a distraction.”

“Hey.” His fingers are suddenly at her chin, tilting it up until she’s meeting his gaze. “I’m starting to realize I didn’t really like who I was before. I lived _only_ for work. You and Ren…” His lips press together as his eyes search her face, looking like he’s trying to formulate a thought he can’t quite voice. “It’s not a bad thing,” he says finally. “It really isn’t.”

She nods softly. “Okay.”

He leans in until his lips press gently against hers, still holding her chin as she melts into it a little.

“I think maybe I should get you home now,” he murmurs. 

Her lips curl, the promise of _that_ nearly enough to push Ben’s creepy boss out of her mind. “Past your bedtime?”

“I don’t plan on sleeping for… a _long_ while, Rey.”

Everything south of her belly _clenches_ in response, reminding her of their game, reminding her of what’s to _come_ ; she swallows thickly, biting at her lower lip. 

“Not very responsible of you,” she teases. “Keeping me up past my bedtime.”

“Rey,” He laughs softly, giving her another soft peck at her mouth. “You’ll be lucky if I let you fucking sleep at all tonight.”

She presses her thighs together as she manages a shaky inhale, not bothering to tell him she doesn’t mind in the slightest.

She doesn’t think she has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahah only to end in a smut cliffhanger I am the absolute worst listen I already wrote the next chapter I won't make you wait long but I decided the only thing better than gross reynal is gross reynal in Ben's POV


	19. do you trust me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: graphic anal 🥴
> 
> but it's _romantic_ anal

He’s been thinking about it all night. Ever since that shared little moment before they’d left his house where he’d given her his other… gift. 

Watching her take it, watching her _open up_ for it had been utter torture—so much that he’d nearly called off the entire evening—but the anticipation of it, the promise of _what’s to come_ had made it all worth it. Her squirming in the passenger seat of his car had been enough to make him want to pull over and have her right then and there, but Ben is anything if not patient. He knows the reward of taking his time.

And now he has her in his bedroom, right where he wants her. Right where he _always_ wants her, if he’s being honest with himself, and there’s nothing preventing him from doing whatever he wants to this willing little body of hers. One that is always _so eager_ for whatever he wants to give it. 

She kisses him sweetly as her little fingers undo his tie, pulling it from his neck slowly as she winds the silky fabric around one small fist. She tugs the last of it with a swift movement as it slides from his collar to fall between them, still clutched in her fingers as her lips move over his insistently. 

“Ben,” she breathes, fingers curling into the undone edge of his suit jacket. “Can you—”

He grins against her mouth as his fingers delve into her hair, tilting her head back until he can look into the stormy depths of her eyes. He can see it there—the way she needs him, the way she’s _begging_ for it without ever saying a word—and it’s heady, knowing he does this to her. 

He’s overwhelmed all over again by the knowledge that he wants to be the _only_ one who gets to touch her like this ever again—but he thinks it’s still too soon to tell her that, still insane-sounding even in his own head.

So instead he lets his hands fall to her bare shoulders, lets them cup there before sliding down the slim lengths of her arms to find her waist and settle there—curving over her hips to palm her ass in a way that is only teasing.

“You’ve been very good tonight, Rey,” he murmurs. “Haven’t you.”

She manages a nod even as her lashes flutter when he lets his hand squeeze at one rounded cheek through the fabric of her dress. He lets his fingers graze up the back after, the tip of his index trailing over the length of her zipper until he finds the tab and begins to pull it back down the way he came. Every inch bares more of the smooth line of her back, and he pulls it down and down until it reaches the end just above the swell of her ass. 

She doesn’t move as he reaches for the thin straps next, as he gently tugs them aside so that they can fall down her arms, even maneuvering a little to aid him until the billowy dress falls in a puddle at her feet to leave her in nothing but the black scrap of lace between her legs. He brings his hands to her belly next, trailing a knuckle up the front and over her navel as she trembles a little, grazing beneath her breasts before his thumb finds her nipple to tease there. 

He gives one hardened peak a pinch, a soft gasp escaping her as he rolls it between his forefinger and thumb. “I could hardly get through tonight,” he tells her. “Thinking about the things I was going to do to you later.”

He watches her throat bob with a swallow. “And what are you going to do to me?”

“Mm.” He lets his knuckles brush back down her ribs as his eyes dip down the front of her. “Everything that I can.” His hand curls around her hip to squeeze just as he ducks to press his mouth against hers, lingering there for only a moment before he murmurs, “Get on the bed.”

She moves to turn, quickly, so _eager_ —but he stops her with a hand around her wrist before she can move away. 

“Wait,” he says, holding out his hand. “I need that back.”

Her eyes dip down to the tie curled in her hand, turning her face back up slowly to meet his hardened stare. She reaches slowly to place the silky material in his waiting palm, watching as his fingers close around it as her teeth press against her lower lip. 

He tucks the tie back into his pocket. “Bed,” he repeats. “Now.”

She turns to give him her back, and he watches as she steps across the room, legs taut with the way her feet are still arched high in her sleek, black heels—his eyes lingering on the rounded curve of her ass that is barely contained by the tight lace of her underwear. Her knees clamber up on the bed as she crawls across it, even peeking over her shoulder with a soft smile as she waves her ass a little at him.

God, he fucking loves this woman. 

Maybe soon he’ll work up the courage to tell her how much. 

She finally swivels until she’s sitting on his mattress, knees slightly bent in front of her to let her toes touch the edge of his bed as she rests back on her hands that are pressed into the comforter behind her. 

She cocks her head, still smiling bemusedly at him. “Well, I’m on the bed.”

“You are.” His eyes rake down the length of her as a ragged breath escapes him. “Do you trust me, Rey?”

Her mouth parts as she considers the question. “What?”

“Do you trust me?”

“I—” Her brow furrows for just a moment, smoothing out just as quickly as she nods back at him. “Yes.”

“I want you to roll over,” he tells her. “Get on your stomach, and stretch your arms out in front of you.”

Her lips purse as she looks back at his headboard, eyes lingering there for a second before she shifts to do as he asks. On his king-sized mattress she looks even tinier, stretched out on her belly as she lets her arms reach out in front of her to rest just at the edge of his pillows. He lets her lie like that for several seconds, lets the anticipation build for what he has planned—finally taking quiet steps around the bed until he can dip a knee on the mattress beside her. 

She watches him pull the tie from his pocket with wide eyes, one cheek pressed into the comforter, her arms outstretched dutifully as he pulls the silky material tight between his hands. He curls his body to wrap one end around her wrists, quickly tying them together and giving the knot a tug after to ensure it’s tight, but not so tight that it might hurt her. He moves to tie the other end around one of the wooden spindles that make up his headboard, making sure that the material is taut so that she can’t maneuver away. 

Her fingers flex in front of her as she pulls at the tie, not as if she’s trying to escape, but in a way that’s curious, as if she’s trying to discern what he’s planning. He ducks to press his lips to her temple when she settles her cheek back against his mattress, letting his hand smooth down her back in a soothing gesture before curling to squeeze her ass. 

“Can you get on your knees? Want this ass in the air for me.”

She shifts and maneuvers until her knees are braced against the mattress, her thighs spread apart to leave her spine curved.

“Is it uncomfortable?”

She manages to shake her head against the bed. “I’m okay.”

“I want you to tell me if you get uncomfortable at all,” he instructs quietly. “Promise?”

She nods. “I promise.”

“Good girl.”

Ben lets his feet fall back to the floor as he stalks around to the other side of the bed, quickly grabbing a few items from his nightstand and holding them low so that Rey doesn’t catch sight of them before he moves to the end of the bed. He drops his items down near her feet, his heart pounding wildly beneath his ribs and hands almost shaking with anticipation. 

Seeing her like this, spread out, bound, _trusting_ —it makes Ben almost _feral_ with need. 

He pulls his jacket from his shoulders to drop it unceremoniously from the floor, watching her squirm on his mattress as he slowly begins to undo each of the buttons of his dress shirt. He takes his time stripping down to nothing, palming his cock and giving it a slow stroke when there’s nothing preventing him from doing so as he continues to just watch her. He could easily come like this, touching himself while he watches her waiting so prettily for him.

But he has other plans. 

Several. 

He climbs up on the bed until he’s resting just behind her, leaning back on his haunches as he palms at her hips, fingers curling into the lace on either side to tuck beneath as he starts to work them down. He nearly swallows his tongue when he works the fabric down her thighs to hang stretched between them—that bit of red between her cheeks as the jeweled end of the stainless steel plug glints back at him. He trails a finger there to press at the end, hearing her breath catch as she pushes back against his touch. 

And lower… fucking _dripping._

“Look how wet you are,” he marvels. “Did you feel that good with this pretty ass stuffed full all night?”

She gasps when he pushes a finger inside her, her inner walls clenching around it. “ _Ben.”_

“Were you thinking about the way I was going to give this pretty ass my cock when I got you home?”

He withdraws his slicked finger only to paint the taut rim around the plug with her own fluids—wetting it enough so that he can twist it slightly. The headboard rattles as she tugs unconsciously at the tie that binds her there, a soft cry escaping her as he continues to twist it this way and that. 

“I was thinking about it,” he rasps, giving the plug a gentle tug just to watch the way she stretches around it. “Ever since I slipped it inside you. Couldn’t get that image out of my head.” He pulls just a little harder, a soft moan tearing out of Rey’s throat as her body begins to give enough to allow it to begin to ease out of her. “The way you took it.” The largest part starts to give way. “The way you _stretched.”_ His mouth falls slack, holding his breath as the rest of it finally slides out of her, leaving her stretched and a little open and _waiting_ for him. “Kept thinking about how you’d stretch even more for _me.”_

Her breath comes harder now, practically panting as he leans to press his lips to a particularly enticing freckle at the soft swell of her ass. 

“Shh,” he soothes, reaching for one of the items he’d tossed onto the mattress. “I have another surprise.”

Her voice is airy and her laugh strained when she answers, “You’re really going to spoil me if you keep buying me presents.”

“Who says it isn’t a present for me?”

He can just make out the way she bites back a lazy grin, and he turns over the toy in his hands, the soft silicone resembling an almost horseshoe-like shape. His fingers brush against the larger of the two bulbed ends, trailing down until he finds a button, one that makes it hum slightly with gentle vibrations. He leaves it on the lowest setting when he reaches to press one rounded end between her folds—watching her squirm against it.

“Do you know what this is, Rey?”

She shakes her head jerkily. “No.”

“This end”—he flips it around to let the larger end glide through her folds—“goes inside you, and _this_ one”—he flips it again to let the smaller tip rub against her clit as she whimpers with it—“stays right here.” His lips press against the little dimple above her ass as he slides one end of the toy lazily between the lips of her cunt. “Want you full,” he tells her. “I want you out of your fucking mind with it.”

He leans back to watch as he teases the slick crease of her pussy at a slow, languid pace—watching the way the sensitive flesh there trembles and clenches in anticipation for the next touch, for what comes _after._ He turns the vibration up several notches higher when he presses against her again, pushing the end through her folds until she makes a sharp sound when it touches her clit again. 

“You’re going to come for me,” he tells her quietly. “Just like this. Need you relaxed, sweetheart. Need you nice and soft if you’re going to take my cock.”

“Ben, that’s— _shit,_ that’s—”

“Go ahead and come, Rey. No teasing. I just want you to fucking _come.”_

She squirms and she rocks as her breath leaves her in sharp little pants, but he holds her still with one large hand at her hip, keeping the toy pressed firmly against her clit as she continues to make garbled little sounds of pleasure. The buzzing at his fingers is violent and heavy, and he can only imagine what it must feel like, rocking through her center to bring her to the brink. 

Her body shakes and her back arches even as her wrists tug at the tie that keeps her tethered to his bed, and a long, drawn-out whine slips out of her when he feels a slight trickling of fluids dripping out of her, when her entire body tenses with her orgasm only to go lax after. Ben immediately turns down the setting to a gentler one, drawing the end through the slick mess at her center to give her respite as she struggles to catch her breath.

“That’s my good girl,” he coos, circling the larger end around her drenched entrance. “Nice and wet for me. But I think you can give me another, hm?”

“I can’t—I don’t think—”

He thumbs the button to bring the vibe back to a more aggressive setting, pushing it through her folds until she practically sobs from sensation. “ _Ben.”_

Her hips try to draw away, but he chases after her, hearing her muffled cries sound into the comforter as he holds the end against her without any sort of reprieve. He keeps it there until she starts to shake again, his wrist wet with the way she gushes, making him almost want to give up this entire thing and just sink inside her, but the sounds she’s making are intoxicating, and the way she _trembles—_

“Ben, I can’t—I fucking— _fuck, Ben—”_

Her thighs are sticky and the toy is so slippery that he can hardly hold it against her when she starts to come a third time—whimpering as her teeth bite down against her arm that is still stretched out ahead of her as her head turns minutely back and forth. 

He finally pulls the toy away to give her actual rest, her entire body slumping a little with fatigue as she settles deeper into the mattress. Her skin is slick with sweat and her own fluids when he rubs a hand at her lower back in soothing circles, bending to kiss at her spine as he murmurs praises into her skin. He keeps the toy at the lowest setting now, panting a little himself as he palms his cock with his free hand, pushing through her sensitive folds to slick himself in her as she mewls a little. 

He feels her skin twitch wherever he touches, overstimulated and spent when he lets his fingers curl around her hip to pull back and look at her. His mouth feels dry and his blood rushes in his ears when he pushes the largest point against her slick little hole, applying a quiet pressure until it starts to give, until the silicone starts to ease inside her slowly. 

She rocks back to meet him as he works the toy inside her even as she whimpers softly, his girl still greedy, and he feeds her inch after inch until there is nothing left to give. He situates it so that the curve rests against the wet center of her, pulling his hand away to see it stay in place, leaving her helpless to it as it softly vibrates against her. 

His breath is ragged when he reaches for the second item he retrieved from his nightstand, flipping open the bottle of clear lube and tilting the bottle above her to let it drip openly between her cheeks, a soft sound escaping her when the cool liquid meets heated skin. She’s shifting restlessly as the toy vibrates against her and inside her—but Ben is distracted now by the slick liquid that pools near the slightly-stretched hole that clenches around nothing. 

He uses two fingers to press against it, to work the lube inside before he pushes deep to coat her there as well, and the sound she makes has his belly clenching with that same anticipation, makes his blood heat and his cock throb where it hangs heavy between his legs, so swollen that it actually _hangs_ , begging to be inside her. 

“ _Look at that,”_ he grinds out. “Greedy little thing. Swallowing up my fingers. You need more?” He grinds two fingers particularly deep as she moans into the comforter. He presses a hand against her lower back to steady her as he continues to work his fingers in and out of her, stretching her, making sure she’s _ready_. “I think you could take me,” he rasps. “You still want that, sweetheart? You want my cock here?”

She nods in a rush. “Yes. I still want it.”

His fingers slip out of her easily, bringing them to his cock to spread some of the lube over his aching length. He gives himself a lazy pump only to hiss through his teeth—precum beading at the head as he rubs against the cleft of her ass. 

“Where do you want it, Rey? Tell me.”

“I want—” She makes an impatient sound, pushing back against him. “In my—”

“You want me to fuck this perfect ass of yours? That what you want?”

“ _Yes,”_ she gasps. “Ben, please, just—”

“Be still, Rey,” he urges. “I’ve got you.”

She does her best to comply, but even under his heavy hand she continues to shift slightly, like she can’t help it. Ben presses the head of his cock against her slick hole, watching the way it gives slightly with the pressure, the way she opens up for _him_ now. 

“That’s it,” he coos. “Just be still for me. I need to go slow, and you’re— _fuck.”_

His mouth parts in a quiet gasp when the head of his cock slips inside, her body clenching around it to fist him tight, tighter, than anything he’s ever felt—not to mention the steady vibration that he can _feel_ on the other side. 

He nearly comes right there.

He grits his teeth as strands of his hair that is wet now with sweat fall in his eyes, her little hole stretching around him as the flared head slips past the tight ring of muscle, enveloping him. He shakes a little with the effort not to come, his trembling fingers curling over her waist to squeeze gently there.

It takes everything in him to be still, not to surge forward. “Are you okay?”

“It’s”—a shuddered breath escapes her—“tight. But it’s okay. Just go… slow.”

“I’ve got you,” he says again, watching the place where she’s stretched tightly around him. “You feel too fucking good. Wanna be inside when I come. And you’re going to come again for me, aren’t you.” He gives her another inch as her breath catches. “You’re going to come with this perfect ass full of me.” Another slow, tortuous inch that feels just a little easier than the last. “Because it’s mine, isn’t it? Is it mine, Rey?”

A garbled sound before a breathy, “ _Yes._ Yours.”

He wants to tell her that _she is_ too, wants to tell her that no one will ever touch her again, that no one will _ever_ see her like this ever again—his pulse racing and his blood pounding because the _ferocity_ of what he feels for this tiny, perfect woman is enough to leave him _terrified._

He closes his eyes for only a moment as he pushes deeper, his mouth going a little slack as a low rumble sounds in his chest. He keeps going at that slow pace that threatens to ruin him, giving her inch after inch until his pelvis rests against her ass and his cock lies nestled deep inside with nothing left to give. 

He can still feel that subtle vibration on the other side, feel it coursing along his cock to make everything that much better, that much _worse_ —and the way there is _absolutely no room left._ It’s enough to make him feel a little bit like he’s losing his _goddamn mind._

“Tell me how you feel,” he rasps. “Are you okay? Talk to me.”

“God, Ben, you’re so”—she squeezes around him as he grunts through it—“ _much.”_

A strangled laugh escapes him because he thinks to himself that she is too, that she doesn’t even _know_ how much. She could fucking _ruin_ him if she wanted to.

He wonders if she already has.

“I’m going to move now, sweetheart,” he tells her. “Can you handle that?”

He can just make out her nod. 

It’s more than enough. 

He goes slow, watching the way her insides cling to every inch of him as he carefully draws out, like her body isn’t quite willing to let him go. He grinds his teeth to the point of pain as he slowly, _slowly_ draws back to ease out of her. Everything is so warm and tight and _perfect_ inside—and he hardly even pulls out to the head before he immediately starts to press back inside. 

He hears her breath catch as she actually rocks back into it, making a soft sound of pleasure that makes his cock twitch even with the way she’s fisting him so tightly. “You like that?”

“It feels—” A soft moan when he starts to draw out again. “ _Yes.”_

He curls his body to press fevered kisses at her spine. “Doing so well, baby,” he praises hoarsely. “Perfect girl.”

It’s a little easier now, moving inside her, enough so that he can pick up the pace just a little. Every slow withdrawal is followed by a slightly faster push back inside, each one met with a choked sound from beneath him as they fall into a rhythm. Through it all, he can still feel the toy buzzing inside her, and his lashes flutter closed as he thrusts a bit harder, as he bottoms out deep with a slap of his hips against hers. 

_“Oh.”_

“Can you”—he grunts as he rocks into her—“come again for me? Wanna feel it.”

“I don’t—don’t think I can—”

“You will,” he growls, reaching the hand that hasn’t been inside her around her waist until his fingers tease between her legs. “You _can.”_

“Ben,” she whines. “Ben, I can’t— _ah.”_

He finds the button on the toy to crank it up, a sharp moan muffling into the bed covers as Rey tenses all over. It makes everything inside hotter, _tighter_ —and he feels his lungs burn with effort, feels heat pool in his belly and his cock as the pressure builds and builds and _builds_ , holding on only to the moment that he feels her insides begin to tremble, hears her breathless cry as her hands tug uselessly at her tether—Ben _just_ managing to push back inside before he finally, _finally_ lets go.

He practically shouts through it, his fingers on her hips tight enough to leave marks, and there’s a small part of him that hopes he does, a small part of him that wants her to _see_ them tomorrow and _remember_ the way he had her. He closes his eyes as his cock twitches to fill her, breathing deep through his nostrils only to expel it shakily. Rey all but collapses beneath him, held up only by his hand at her belly as he curls to let his breath heave against her spine. He mouths there softly to leave barely-there kisses, turning his face to nuzzle his cheek against her skin as she continues to whimper softly. 

It takes great effort to push himself off of her, to slip out of her and retrieve the still buzzing toy, and the sight of her after—swollen, wet, his cum beginning to leak out of her to trickle down—it’s nearly enough to make him lose it all over again. He shuts off the toy before tossing it aside, managing to crawl a little further up the bed to untie her wrists. She falls in a heap after, allowing Ben to scoop her up and pull her close—draping her body over his chest to let her breath puff against it. 

He kisses her temple as he continues to murmur quiet praises into her hair, combing his fingers through the slightly tangled mass until her breathing evens out, until she passes out from sheer exhaustion. When she wakes up he’ll take her to his shower and clean her up, pamper her because she fucking _deserves_ it—but for now he’s content to let her rest just like this, her cheek against his heartbeat that still beats just a little faster than it should. 

His lips leave one last lingering kiss at her hair as her soft sighs of sleep grow more and more even, closing his eyes as he whispers that he loves her even though she can’t hear it. Just because it feels nice to say, just because he’s too afraid to _actually_ tell her. Not that it doesn’t make it any less true. 

Because he knows that she has, after everything is said and done. Ruined him.

It’s amazing how little he actually minds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can take the girl outta the reynal but you can't take the reynal out of the girl

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
